Tall Tales by Fantastic Fred

Patrick Jemmer: Hanesion Hynod gan Ffred Phantastig / Tall Tales by Fantastic Fred

Cyfarchion cynhesaf, gyd-deithwyr ar y ffordd i le nad adwaenom eto! Ffredric Phantastig yw f’enw i. Wel, nid f’enw go iawn, wrth reswm, yw hwn, ond yn hytrach fy nglasenw hudol. Mae’n dangos mai un sy’n selog sugno pob diferyn o fêr o esgyrn bywyd ydwyf fi (rwy wedi gweld y ffilm o’r enw ‘Cymdeithas y Beirdd Marw’ sawl gwaith ch’wel? — “ffan o dastio” — chi’n deall?). Myfi yw Feistr Llawn yn Urdd Cyfrinachau, gwas teyrngar i’r gwir Ddewin, y Doethur o Gymro o’r enw Siôn Du, Ceidwadwr Hen Ddirgelion y Dauwynebog a ŵyr popeth sy’n digwydd ar wyneb y blaned hon, a phopeth a ddigwydd at hynny. Atgyweiriwr breuddwydion mwrdredig, a chofiadwr bywydau wedi’u colli dan ddwylo’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd ydwyf fi. Rwy wedi bod yn llafurio i ddyfeisio moddion i roi i’r Ddaear chwerw hon flas o’i ffisig ei hun; ac ymhellach rwy wedi bod yn ymlafnio i ddysgu cyfiawnder i’r rhai cyndyn, er mai dim ond ychydig sy’n gwrando.

Warmest greetings, fellow-travellers on the way to a place we know not yet! Frederick Fantastic is my name. Well, this is not my real name, of course, but rather my magical by-name. It shows that I am one who zealously sucks every drop of marrow from the bones of life (I’ve seen the film ‘Dead Poets Society’ several times, you see? — “fan of tasting” — get it?). I am Full Master in the Guild of Secrets, faithful servant to the true Magus, the Welsh Doctor named John Dee, Keeper of the Old Mysteries of Bifrons who knows everything that happens on the face of this planet, and everything that will happen to boot. I am the mender of murdered dreams, and the remembrancer of lives lost at the hands of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers. I have been labouring to devise potions to give this embittered Earth a taste of its own medicine; and further, I have been slaving to teach righteousness to the wayward, although there are only a few who listen.

Cymaint rwy wedi’i weld, a’i glywed, a’i ddeall, trwy roi sylw i’r lleisiau sy’n fy nghwmpasu, y sibrwd o’r cysgodion, a chyfieithu’r geiriau estron sy’n dod ataf fi o’r tu hwnt, y mae arnaf fi angen eu rhannu â chi. Bellach, yng Nghlinig Y Pinwydd, rwy wedi dod o hyd i ddogfennau sy’n cynnwys neges bwysig iawn. A dyma ffrwyth f’archwilio ar ffurf nodiadau ffurfiol, a recordiadau, a sgriblan athroniaethol, a darnau creadigol yn ôl pob sôn. O, myn fy ffydd, maent yn ceisio f’atal i, asiantau’r drefn arallfydol, mynachod y frawdoliaeth gycyllog dan awdurdod y pregethwr anfad, y Peintiwr Coch. Mae’r cythreuliaid wedi drysu’r llawysgrifau i gyd, ond fe ddaliaf ati er eu gwaethaf nhw. Ac yn enw Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd y Nw Yrth, fe fyddaf yn bwrw fy llid ar y rhai sydd yn dymuno rhwystro ein hachos ni’r ymladdwyr dros ryddid, naill ai yn y byd hwn neu ynteu yn y byd a ddaw! Yn gyntaf, fodd bynnag, rhaid i fi esbonio tipyn bach amdanaf fi fy hunan. Darllenwch, felly, ac wylo, o ddarganfod y gwirionedd llawen am ein lle yn y fuchedd hon.

How much I have seen, and heard, and understood, by giving heed to the voices that surround me, the whispering from the shadows, and translating the foreign words that come to me from beyond, and which I need to share with you. Now, in The Pines Clinic, I have found documents which contain a very important message. And here is the fruit of my research in the form of formal notes, and recordings, and philosophical scribblings, and what appear to be creative pieces. Oh, upon my faith, they are attempting to prevent me, the agents of the otherworldly order, the monks of the cowled brotherhood under the command of the unholy preacher, the Red Painter. The devils have mixed up all the manuscripts, but I shall stick with it despite them. And in the name of the Indolent Idolaters of the Nw Yrth, I shall have vengeance on those who wish to thwart our cause, we the freedom-fighters, either in this world, or the next! Read on, therefore, and weep, discovering the happy truth about our place in this existence.

Ond onid felly y penderfynwch, fe fyddwn i’n awgrymu gorwedd i lawr mewn ‘stafell dywyll, a chael dysgled hyfryd o de mate claear. O’m rhan i, rwy’n hoff iawn o ddarllen (ac ysgrifennu) nofelau gothig yn f’amser sbâr i ymlacio. Wedi’r cwbl, mae rhaid i hyd yn oed Buffy, Leiddiad Fampiriaid (f’arwres!), fynd ar wyliau unwaith yn y pedwar amser. A phan eilw’r awen pwy eill ei gwrthod? Gyda llaw, rwy wastad o ddifri calon, fel y gwelwch chi, ac rwy’n hoffi gwledda ar ffilmiau cyffrous megis ‘Gladiator’, ond, peidiwch â phoeni, rwy’n sylweddoli hefyd mai hiwmor diatal sydd yn iro olwynion y byd, fel y meddant hwy (wel, y rhai nad ydynt â’r sgiliau cyfathrebu sy’n perthyn i sach wlyb o ffuredau marw!). Felly nid tranc a thristwch fydd popeth! Fe fyddaf yn eich gadael gyda phob dymuniad da, a phob bendith am ddyfodol llawn o ddifyrrwch a thrawsffurfiad. A chofiwch chi wrth ichi dyfu a datblygu: enfawr dych chi, cynhwyswch laweroedd: gadewch nawr iddyn nhw fyw!

But if it is not thus that you decide, I would suggest reclining in a dark room, and having a lovely cup of luke-warm matte tea. For my part, I am very fond of reading (and writing) gothic novels in my spare time in order to relax. After all, even Buffy the Vampire Slayer (my heroine!) has to go on holiday once in a blue moon. And, when the Muse calls, who can resist Her? By the way, I am always deadly serious, as you can see, and I like feasting on exciting films like ‘Gladiator’, but, don’t worry, I appreciate too that it’s unrestrained humour that greases the world’s wheels, as they say (well the ones who don’t have the communication skills belonging to a wet sack of dead ferrets!). So it shall not all be doom and gloom! I’ll leave you with every good wish, and every blessing, for a future full of diversion and transformation. And remember whilst you grow and develop: you are enormous, you contain multitudes; now then allow them to grow!

“’Vrith’f u hwahlé ína. Fli-salmé lif hýl fli-afoth-ri fy m’athoo nayn hýl hlispi fliri’f fl’azis hýl” –  U ‘Vrithhain .
“Ia Firithe iusonu ina. A sana, ā fathe inā thu a lisipāzisas sanas ī the” – I Hain u Firithe.
“Yr oedd, yn y dechreuad, yr Haul. Ac ar ei ben ei hunan ydoedd, wedi lapio amdano â myfyrdod, heb adnabod neb ond Efe’i hun” – Cân yr Haul.
“There was, in the beginning, the Sun. And He was alone, and wrapped in thought, and knowing only Himself” – The Sunsong.

Mynegai Pennod / Chapter Index

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 1 Ychwanegol

Pennod Un: Mae Ffred yn Sgriblan / Ffred’s Scribbling

Wel, helo bawb! Ffred sy ma. Wi di bod yn brysur iawn yn ddiweddar. Rhaid i fi neud hyn gan fod pethau’n newid mor gyflym yn ein byd trist a phoenus ni ar hyn o bryd, a wi’n ofni bydda i’n cael ‘ngadael ar ôl fel arall. Newydd gwpla cwrs bendigedig ar-lein gyda grŵp o’r enw “Plant y Wawr Ddu” dw i, gan ddysgu am “Arddeisyf Etheraidd Ymarferol.” Neno’r Saith Anhraethadwy, roedd yn anodd i ddyn fel fi sy’n fwy cyfarwydd â phethau syml fel meithrin y ffwng gorau a pharatoi dognau. A bod yn onest, sa i’n nabod be wi di gonsurio nac a fydda i’n gallu cael gwared arno fe. Mae un peth yn siŵr fe fydd arna i angen ymarfer y swynion bwrw allan fel y cythraul o hyn ‘mlaen! Ond eto i gyd, dros Dymor Edifeirwch Hir wi di bod ati yn nwnsiwn Coleg yr Angylesau Syrthiedig, y tro hwn yn neud cwrs i ddysgu sut i reoli elfennau natur. O, nefi bliw, mae wedi bod yn wych! Licwn i hala “diolch” enfawr i’n tiwtor ni, Arianithi Sesiha, oedd yn seraffaidd, ond eitha sarffaidd ‘fyd. Wel, does fawr o ryfeddod ‘na, achos bod pawb yn mynd yn fwyfwy bwystfilaidd y dyddiau ‘ma. Sa i di cael cymaint o hwyl ers achau, a dyna rywbeth i’w ddathlu yn yr amseroedd tywyll a barbaraidd ‘ma sydd ohoni. Heb raid dweud, fe ddysgon ni i gyd lawer o bethau ‘fyd, ac mae’r technegau’n ddefnyddiol iawn i gadw’r gelod bychain peiriannol draw! Yn anffodus, sa i’n gallu rhannu cyfrinachau’r hud gyda chi, er eich lles eich hunain, ac am mod i di addo. Fodd bynnag, wi di bod yn sgrifennu llawer o lythyrau, a phethau i’n papur bro lleol ni, y Malwr-Awyr, dros y blynyddoedd, yn cynnwys adroddiadau ar ddramâu. Felly dyma dipyn bach o’n sgriblan i roi blas i chi ar sut mae pethau wedi bod yn datblygu rown’ fan ‘yn.

Well, hello everyone! Ffred here. I’ve been very busy recently. I’ve got to be, as things’re changing so quickly in our sad and painful world at the moment, and I’m fearful I’ll be left behind otherwise. I’ve just finished a superb online course with a group called “Children of the Black Dawn,” learning about “Practical Ethereal Invocation.” By the Seven Unspeakable Ones, it was hard for a man like me who’s more familiar with simple things like cultivating the best fungus and preparing potions. To be honest, I don’t know what I’ve conjured, nor whether I’ll be able to get rid of it. One thing’s certain, I’ll have to practise the banishing spells like crazy from now on! But then again, over the Season of Long Repentance, I’ve been hard at it in the dungeon of the College of the Fallen She-Angels, this time doing a course to learn how to control the natural elements. O, dear heavens, it was great! I’d like to send a huge “thanks” to our tutor, Arianithi Sesilithi, who was seraphic, but quite serpentine too. Well, no surprise there, as everyone’s getting more and more bestial these days. I haven’t had so much fun for ages, and that’s something to celebrate in today’s dismal and barbaric times. Needless to say, we all learned a lot of stuff too, and the techniques are very useful for keeping the miniature mechanical leeches away! Unfortunately, I can’t share the magical secrets with you, for your own good, and ‘cos I’ve promised. However, I’ve been writing lots of letters, and things for our local Welsh-language paper the Air-Masher, over the years, including reports on plays. So, here’s a bit of my scribbling to give you a taste of how things have been progressing round here.

 

HUD THEATRIG: Helo Bawb! Ffred sy ‘ma, yn gofyn ‘Ai hon yw dagr a welaf o’m blaen i?’ Y mis ‘ma licwn i gyflwyno i chi adolygiad o ddrama yr es i i’w gwylio ddoe yn Neuadd Dref Aber-cennin. A bod yn onest, y gwir reswm y mynychais i’r digwyddiad oedd achos bod Ethelwen, nith fach fy lojer (sy’n un ar bymtheg oed) yn chwarae rhan bwysig, ond rhaid i fi ddweud, er gwaethaf hynny, y mwynheais i fy hunan yn fawr iawn. Cafodd y ddrama o’r enw ‘Em ac Ec Beth?’ ei hysgrifennu gan y dramodydd o Almaenwr Wilhelm Cynhyrfwr-waywffon, rwy’n credu (maen nhw’n lico gwneud cyfansoddeiriau yn yr Almaeneg).THEATRICAL MAGIC: Hiya All! Ffred here, asking ‘Is this a dagger I see before me?’ This month I’d like to present you with a review of a play I went to see Aber-cennin Town Hall. To be honest, the real reason I attended the event was because Ethelwen, my lodger’s little niece (who’s 16 years old) was playing an important part, but I have to say, despite that, I enjoyed myself very much. The play, called ‘M and C What?’ was written by the German playwright Wilhelm Cynhyrfwr-waywffon, I believe (they do like to make compound words in German).
Mae wedi'i lleoli yn y Parth Glas yn yr hen ddyddiau, ac yn cynnwys llawer o wleidyddiaeth hanesyddol a phethau gwael fel arglwyddi sy'n cysgu drwy’r amser ym Mhalas yr Henuriaid Dyrchafedig pan nad ydyn nhw'n dweud celwyddau noeth, caethiwo ac ecsbloetio'r werin bobl, a llofriddio'i gilydd. Cyffrous iawn ydy’n wir, ond pam y sgrifennai dramodydd o Almaenwr am bethau a ddigwyddodd yn y Parth Glas ganrifoedd yn ôl sy’n achosi penbleth i fi. Rwy’n dwlu ar yr hanes arswyd am ysbrydion sy'n gweini ar feddyliau meidrolion, tra'u llanwant o’r corun i’r sawdl â chreulondeb enbytaf, gan dewychu’u gwaed! Rhyfedd o berthnasol i’r sefyllfa yn y wlad hon Bretany heddiw ydy, heb os, hefyd! Creda i fod Pobl y Parth Glas eisiau cipio grym yn Ynys y Teyrnasau Anghytûn, gyda help yr Undeb Masnachol Milwrol Byd-Eang, gan ddefnyddio technoleg fel peiriannau mwg a drychau hudol. Naeth y nith berfformio’n eithriadol o dda, gan sgrechian a llefain a rhuthro lan a lawr, wedi’i gwisgo mewn rhyw fath o len, ychydig yn debyg i ysbryd neu i wrach. ‘Y Frenhines Teras Mai’ oedd enw ei chymeriad (yr ‘Em’ yn y teitl), ac ‘Y Tywysog Bors ap Siôn’ oedd ei chariad, a cheisiai fe ei lladd hithau yn y pendraw. Ac ro’n nhw ill dau eisiau lladd eu gelyn gwaetha, ‘Yr Arglwydd Ieramheel Corbin’ (yr ‘Ec’ yw hon). Ond drwy'r amser, yn y cefndir, y tu hwnt i'r llenni, ar wahân i'r Dewiniaid a'r Pendefigion, dyna'r Anrhydeddus Arglwyddes Macbeth, Boneddiges y Siambr Wely i’r Frenhines Waedlyd, yn dyfeisio cynllwynion, a rhaffu celwyddau, a thynnu llinynnau er mwyn cyflawni'i dibenion ysgeler ei hun. Ac eto i gyd, mae'n digwydd taw hithau sy'n gweini ar y Grymoedd Rhyfedd 'na o'r enw y Delkvovim sydd eisiau gorfodi'u hewyllys ar yr holl Delkurí sy'n byw yn ein Byd ni, a'u newid am bythm greda i (Mae'n flin 'da fi, ond dw i'm yn siŵr am y geiriau estron yma.)It’s set in the Blue Zone in the old days, and contains lots of historical politics and awful things like lords who are asleep all the time in the Palace of the Exalted Elders, when they're not lying compulsively, enslaving and exploiting the proles, and slaughtering each other. It’s definitely very exciting, but why a German dramatist would write about things that happened in the Blue Zone centuries ago is causing me a headache. I love the horrible story about spirits that tend on mortals’ thoughts, filling them from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty, whilst thickening the blood. It’s also strangely relevant to the situation in this land of Pretany today, without a doubt! I believe that the People of the Blue Zone want to seize power in the Island of the Disunited Kingdoms, with the help of the World-Wide Military Mercantile Union, using technology like smoke machines and magic mirrors. The niece performed exceptionally well, shouting and weeping and rushing up and down, wearing some kind of sheet, a bit like a ghost or a witch. ‘Queen May’ was the name of her character (the ‘M’ in the title), and ‘Boris John’s-son’ was her lover, and he tried to kill her in the end. And the two of them wanted to kill their worst enemy, ‘Lord Jeremiah Corbyn’ (that’s the ‘C’). But all the time, in the background, behind the scenes, apart from the Wizards and the Nobles, there's the Honurbale Lady Macbeth, Lady of the Bedchamber to the Bloody Queen, planning, and spinning lies, and pulling strings in order to fulfil her own ends. And then again, it turns out she is serving those Weird Powers called the Delkvovim who want to impose their will on all the Delkurí who live in our World, and change them forever, I believe (I'm sorry but I'm not sure about the foreign words here.)
A bod yn onest, lladdodd y nith fach ei hun, a phob copa walltog gaeth ei ladd hefyd mae’n ymddangos. Wedi’r cwbl, ‘Efe gaiff waed; ebe hwynt, Gwaed a geith waed,’ fel y dywed y dyfyniad ar y posteri. Ond roedd un peth yn anodd i fi. Mae’r cyfieithiad i’r Gymraeg gan lanc rhyfeddol o ryw wlad annatblygedig ar lan Afon Sed yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, o’r enw Daa·hweeth Oh·fé neu Daud Pekar (Dai Baxter, dw i'n ddweud) i fod i fod yn ardderchog (enw od arno ta be, on’d ife?). Serch hynny, ddeallwn i’m y rhan fwyaf o beth roedd yr actorion yn ei ddweud – efallai bod nhw’n siarad yr Albaneg neu’r Almaeneg – er bod yr iaith yn swnio fel y Rwsieg, neu rywbeth. Rhyw fath o rwtsh, ta be. Wedi dweud hynny, roedd yn eithriadol o ddiwylliannol, gyda’r holl fabanod mewn crochanau, a choedwigoedd yn cerdded, o a’r gwaed i gyd mor goch â chetshyp tomato! ‘A'r coed a ddifethodd fwy o'r bobl nag a ddifethodd y cleddyf y diwrnod hwnnw’ – roedd Hanes Proffwydol Talbot yn gywir am hynny'n ddi-os, hyd yn oed os hen hocedwr oedd e.To be honest, the little niece killed herself, and every last one of ‘em got killed too it appears. After all, ‘Blood will have blood, they say, Blood will have blood,’ as the quotation declares on the posters. But one thing was hard for me. The translation into Welsh by the strange lad from some undeveloped country on the banks of the Sed in the Heart of the Continent, named Daa·hweeth Oh·fé or Daud Pekar (Dai Baxter, I say) is supposed to be excellent (odd name he’s got though, hasn’t he?). Despite that I didn’t understand the majority of what the actors were saying – perhaps they were speaking Scottish or German – although the language sounded like Russian, or somesuch. Some kind of rubbish, in any case. Having said that, it was exceptionally cultural, with all the babies in cauldrons, and walking forests, and all the blood, as red as tomato ketchup! ‘And the trees destroyed more of the people than the sword destroyed that day’ – Talbot's Prophetic History was right about that without a doubt, even if he was an old rogue.
Beth, yn wir, oedd yn digwydd? Beth a wn i? Serch ny roedd yn brofiad bythgofiadwy. Bydd y cwmni (‘Y Chwaraewyr Chwit-chwat’ fel y'u hadwaenir gan y deallusion) yn hercian o gwmpas trefi a phentrefi'r Deheudi dros y gaeaf i ddod â mawredd diwylliant i’r werin bobl yn ystod y tymor mwyaf creulon hwn, sy’n codi lelocs yn y pridd mar’, gan ddrysu cofion â chwant. Dylech chi fynd i weld y sioe ddisglair hon yn bendant. Gair i gall – mae mwy na digon o waed yn llifo fel afon lithrog, ludiog drwy’r perfformiad o ddechrau i ddiwedd. Mae na dipyn bach o fwdw hefyd yn ogystal â dogn o iaith fras fel y gwn i. Byddwch yn ofalus os nad ydych yn hoff iawn o gyfresi treisgar yn debyg i ‘Oddi mewn i’r Cysgodion’ ar y teledu (Ww, mae’n gwneud i fi grynu bob tro!)!What, in fact, was happening? What do I know? Despite that it was an unforgettable experience. The company (‘The Fickle Fol-de-Rols’ as they are known to the intelligentsia) will be dragging themselves around the towns and villages of the Southlands across the winter to bring the wonder of culture to the common people during this cruellest season, which grows lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire. You should go the see this dazzling show, definitely. A word to the wise – there’s more than enough blood flowing like a slippery, sticky river through this performance from start to finish. There’s a bit of voodoo too, as well as a dollop of bad language, as far as I know. Be careful if you’re not too fond of violent series like ‘Out of the Shadows' on the telly (Ooh, it makes me quiver every time!).
DADFLOCIO FY MHIBELLAU: O, gan bwyll nawr, yn hen gymrodyr, yr oedd helbul a helynt yn Ein Tŷ Ni’n ddiweddar gyda’r plymwaith. Nage dyn i gwyno am ddim byd ydw i, ond ar y llaw arall, rwy wastad eisiau diolchi’n wresog i bobl am wasanaeth da. Felly dyma i chi gopi o’r llythyr a anfonais i fynegi pa mor ddiolchgar o’n i pan ges i fy achub rhag tynged waeth na marwolaeth —UNBLOCKING MY PIPES: Oh, steady on now, me old mates, there was trouble and strife in Our ‘Ouse recently with the plumbing. Not that I’m man to complain about anything, but, on the other hand, I always want to give warm thanks to people for good service. So, here you have a copy of the letter I sent to express how thankful I was when I was saved from a fate worse than death —
‘Twym fel Tostyn’ Gwasanaethau Gwres: Annwyl Cyfarwyddwr y Cwmni! Yn ffodus iawn, yr oedd angen arnaf alw ar eich cwmni am ymgeledd a chymorth yr wythnos diwethaf pan gefais broblemau ofnadwy gyda’r gwres canolog yn fy mwthyn pitw, a bu bron i mi rewi i farwolaeth yn fy ngharafán lle rwy wedi bod yn byw y tu ôl i’r tŷ dros y gaeaf oherwydd stŵr gyda’r lletywraig. Syrthiaswn i gysgu tra perfformiai ei nith fach mewn drama, ond problem arall yw honno.‘Warn as Toast’ Heating Services: Dear Company Director! Very fortunately, I had need of calling upon your company for succour and support last week when I experienced awful problems with the central heating in my tiny cottage, and I almost froze to death in my caravan where I have been living behind the house over the winter due to ructions with my lady lodger. I had fallen asleep while her niece was performing in a play, but that’s a different problem.
Mae eich hysbysebion (fe’u gwelaswn ar yr arwyddfwrdd yn Nhesbyro) yn honni mai ‘nyni yw’r mwyaf proffesiynol yn y busnes’ ac mewn gwirionedd, o ganlyniad i’m profiad, dywedwn mai hollol gywir yw’r gosodiad hunananghymeradwyol hwn. Felly, teimlaf fod rhaid imi ysgrifennu atoch er mwyn eich llongyfarch am safon eich gwasanaeth, sydd yn eithriadol o dda. Gyda llaw, nid oes golwg ohonoch yn yr hen archfarchnad ffiaidd o’r enw ‘Uwch-siopau,’ a dylai yna fod, yn bendifaddau.Your advertisements (they are to be seen on the noticeboards in Tesbyro) claim that ‘We are the most professional in the business’ and in truth, as a result of my experience, I would say that this self-deprecating statement is totally true. Thus, I feel that I need to write to you in order to congratulate you for the standard of your service, which is exceptionally good. By the way, there no sign of them in the horrid supermarket named ‘Super-shops,’ and there should be, indubitably.
O’r tro cyntaf pan wnes i’r alwad ffôn i ofyn am gymorth, cyrhaeddai eich staff bob amser yn brydlon. Wel, gorau po gyntaf, meddant, ac rwy’n cytuno’n llwyr yn yr achos hwn! Ar ben hynny, roeddent yn amyneddgar pan oeddwn yn holi iddynt ar hir broses beth oedd yn digwydd. Roeddent ymhellach yn paratoi potiau o de ar fy nghyfer, er nad ydwyf yn yfed y fath hylif drewllyd; te mate yw fy hoff ddiod. Eto i gyd, siriol oedd pob un o’r chwe llanc, hyd yn oed pan na fwytwn y sleisys enfawr o deisen y cynigient mor rheolaidd â deial, ychwaith. Er, o feddwl amdani’n ddwys, ryw’n credu bod chwe phobl yn ormodol, cofiwch chi!From the first time I made the phone call to ask for help, your staff arrived punctually on every occasion. Well, the sooner the better, they say, and I totally agree in this case! On top of that, they were patient when I was asking at length what was happening. Furthermore they prepared pots of tea for me, although I do not drink such stinking brew; maté tea is my favourite beverage. Then again, every one of the six lads was cheerful, even when I would not eat the enormous slices of cake they offered me as regular as clockwork, either. Although, thinking about it, I think six people is excessive, mind you!
Yr oedd ansawdd y gwaith ei hun yn rhagorol hefyd, achos bod y lle yn dechrau teimlo cyn dwymed â’r Sahara ar ôl iddynt adael am y trydydd tro, heb sôn am y ffaith bod eich prisiau’n rhesymol dros ben, wedi rhoi cyfrif am yr holl flychau drudfawr o de Tibetaidd, a’r gacen hufen o fforest law'r Amason. Dyna pam ryw’n mynnu talu’n llawn ac yn ychwanegu cildwrn sylweddol. Rydych yn cynnig gwasanaeth heb ei ail, felly byddaf yn cysylltu â chi eto, a dywedaf wrth fy lletywraig am wneud yn union yr un peth os byddaf yn ei gweld yn fuan. Daliwch ati: marchogion ar feirch gwynion ydych! Dymunwn eich canmol i’r cymylau a’r tu hwnt. Yn eiddoch yn gywir, Mr Ff Phantastig.The standard of the work itself was excellent also, because the place began to feel as warm as the Sahara after they left for the third time, not to mention the fact that your prices are exceedingly reasonable, after taking into account all the costly boxes of Tibetan tea, and the Amazonian gateau. That’s why I am insisting on paying in full and adding a substantial tip. You offer second-to-none service, so I shall be contacting you again, and I shall tell my lady lodger to do the exactly the same thing if I see her soon. Keep up the good work: you are knights in shining armour! I would like to give you the highest praise, and more. Yours faithfully, Mr Ff Phantastig.
CEFNOGWCH EICH CYMUNED LEOL! Mae pethau’n mynd o ddrwg i wael ym Mrynfelin ein cymuned hyfryd ni, ar hyn o bryd am fod cwmni o’r enw ‘Uwch-siopau’ eisiau agor archfarchnad enfawr yng nghanol y dref y flwyddyn nesaf. Fe sylweddola pawb eu bod nhw wedi gwneud yn union yr un peth o’r blaen yn y dinasoedd o gwmpas yr ardal, gan achosi i’r rhan fwyaf o werthwyr a chynhyrchwyr lleol golli eu swyddi. Maen nhw’n honni eu bod nhw’n hybu’r economi ac yn creu cyfoeth, ond fel y gwyddoch chi, celwydd noeth yw hyn mewn gwirionedd, a dim ond malu cachu y maent. A beth am Tesbyro? Dyna eisoes y lle lleia drwg i siopa ynddo, fe ddyweda i.SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COMMUNITY! Things are going from bad to worse in our lovely community of Brynfelin right now, as a company called ‘Super-shops’ wants to open an enormous supermarket in the middle of the town next year. Everyone realises that they’ve done exactly the same thing before in the cities around the area, causing most of the local sellers and producers to lose their jobs. They allege that they’re stimulating the economy and creating wealth, but as you know, this is a barefaced lie in truth, and they’re just talking shit. And what about Tesbyro? That’s already the least bad place to shop in, say I.
Wedi dweud hynny, mae ysgol newydd, tri chant o dai, tafarn a sinema wedi’u creu ger yr adeiladau newydd sbon yn Aber-cennin yn ddiweddar, ond ni allaf ddweud o ganlyniad i beth mae hyn wedi digwydd mor sydyn. Y peth nesaf fydd i’w weld yma yw fod llefaryddion y cwmni’nbwriadu dod lan o'n Prifddinas Hynafol Hyfryd ni i gwrdd ag aelodau’r cyhoedd yn ein tref fach bert, er mwyn i ni ‘ddod o hyd i fwy o wybodaeth’ am y sefyllfa ofnadwy sy’n prysur ddatblygu. Ddim gwybodaeth sydd ei heisiau yma, ond weithredu uniongyrchol. Os nad chi, pwy; os nad yn awr, pryd?Having said that, a new school, three hundred houses, a pub and a school have been created near the brand-new buildings in Aber-cennin recently, but I can’t say as a result of what this has happened so suddenly. The next thing that will be seen here is that spokespersons of the company are intending to come up from our Lovely Ancient Capital to meet members of the public in our pretty little town, so that we can ‘find out more information’ am the awful situation that’s quickly developing. It’s not information that’s needed here, but direct action. If not you then who; if not now then when?
Byddwch chi’n siŵr o fod yno, yn Neuadd y Dref, ddydd Sul, 1af Ebrill am 9 o’r gloch y bore i fynegi eich gwrthwynebiaeth i’r cynllun gwael hwn. Defnyddiwch eich llais neu collwch eich hunan-barch! Os na fyddwch yn gwneud dim byd, fe fyddwn ni i gyd yn dioddef yn enbyd yn y dyfodol. Fi a ddylai wybod – dw i fy hunan eisoes wedi colli llawer o fusnes yn gwerthu hufen harddwch y tu mas i Tesbyro. Wi’n credu taw un o’r cynhyrfwr dros Uwch-siopau a hysbysodd yr heddlu ynghylch fy menter fach – yr hen gythraul. Gadwech i ni sefyll ynghyd -- mewn undeb y mae nerth!Be sure to be there, in the Town Hall, Sunday 1st April at 9am to express your opposition to this horrible plan. Use your voice or lose your self-respect! If you don’t do anything, we’ll all suffer terribly in the future. I should know – I myself have already lost lots of business selling beauty cream outside Tesbyro. I believe that it’s one of the Super-shops agitators who told the police about my little venture – the old devil. Let us stand together – in unity lies strength!
NEWYDDION CYFFROUS AM ŴYL GWIR A GOLAU: Fel y gŵyr pawb, am fy mhechodau rwy’n trefnu popeth ar gyfer yr ŵyl hon. Rydym ni ill dau ar y pwyllgor wedi dewis Sionyn Tew-ddyn i fod ein siaradwr gwadd. Ro’n ni ‘n arfer bod yn yr un dosbarth gyda’n gilydd pan o’n ni’n gryts nes iddo fe gael ei fwrw mas am ei fod yn dwyn afalau oddi ar yr athrawes. Er eich gwybodaeth, dyma fi’n anfon gair i’r hen gonan sy ddim yn werth pris y stamp a bod yn onest, ond dyna ni, roedd Enwen yn ddi-ildio –EXCITING NEWS ABOUT THE FESTIVAL OF TRUTH AND LIGHT: As everyone knows, for my sins I’m organising everything for this festival. The two of us on the committee have chosen to be our Johnny Fatso to be our invited speaker. We used to be in the same class as each other when we were kids until he got thrown out because he was stealing apples from the lady teacher. For your information, here am I, having a word with the old bugger who’s not worth the price of the stamp to be honest, but there we are, Enwen was adamant —
Yr Anrhydeddus Siôn Grossmann. Annwyl Syr!, Dr Phantastig yw f’enw. Rwy’n byw ym Maes-y-tywod, hynny yw, ardal fwyaf dymunol Brynfelin, a chadeirydd grŵp bach trafod o’r enw ‘Y Rhan-amserwyr’ ydwyf ar hyn o bryd. Yn gyntaf oll, a allaf eich llongyfarch ar gael eich ethol i Lys y Sêr – trwy deg neu drwy hagr – unwaith eto, o drwch blewyn y tro hwn wrth gwrs! Ond eto i gyd, gwell y drwg a wyddys na'r drwg na wyddys, fel y medd yr athronwyr! Nid unigolyn drwg ydych chi, mae angen arnaf ddweud. Wel, rydym yn dathlu eleni hefyd, achos mai ein pen-blwydd yn ddeugain mlwydd oed ydy, ac felly byddwn yn trefnu llawer o ddigwyddiadau drwy’r dref fydd yn llawn o faneri, fflagiau, a rhubanau. The Honourable John Grossmann. Dear Sir!, Dr Ffantastig is my name. I live in Sandy-fields, that is, that most desirable area of Brynfelin, and I am chairperson of a small discussion group called ‘The Part-timers’ at the moment. First of all, can I congratulate you on being elected to the Star Chamber – by fair means or foul – once again, by a hair’s breadth this time of course! But then again, better the devil you know that the one you don’t know, as the philosophers say! Not that you are a bad person, I have to say. Well, we are celebrating this year too, as it is out fortieth anniversary, and therefore we will be organising a lot of events throughout the town, which will be full of banners, flags, and ribbons.
Bydd un o’r achlysuron arbennig yn barti yn y bar Awstralaidd o’r enw ‘Y Walabi Ewn,’ Ddydd Rhyngwladol Gwir a Golau, 29ain Chwefror, yn dechrau am 3 o’r gloch y prynhawn – caiff pawb ddigon o amser i ymlawenhau felly, gadewch inni ddweud. Byddem wrth ein boddau ped ymunech â ni er mwyn mwynhau gwydraid o win coch a brechdan gaws, a chynnig llwncdestun i’r meirwon craff i gyd. Gwn ichi fynd i’r ‘fan arall,’ sef i Brifysgol Rhydrawnt, tra mynychwn minnau Goleg Polytechnig Pontychen. Ond er gwaethaf y ffaith ichi astudio cwrs ôl-fodern a enwir yn ‘Egwyddorion Ymarfer’ (heb raid graddio) efallai yr areithiech am ychydig funudau (hyd at ddwy awr y gwnâi’r tro) ar bwysigrwydd addysg foesol mewn cymdeithas gyfoes.One of the special occasions will be a party in the Australian bar called ‘The Cheeky Wallaby,’ on the International Day of Truth and Light, February 29th, starting at 3pm – so everyone will have enough time to get jolly, let us say. We would be in our element if you could join us in order to enjoy a glass of red wine and a cheese sandwich, and offer a toast to all the discerning departed. I know that you went to the ‘other place,’ namely to Camford University, whilst I attended Oxbridge Polytechnic College. But despite the fact that you studied a post-modern course named ‘Principles of Study’ (without needing to graduate), perhaps you would hold forth for a few minutes (up to two hours would do the trick) on the importance of moral education in contemporary society.
Nid ydym yn sefydliad cyfoethog, gwaetha’r modd, ac felly mae’n ddrwg iawn gennyf na allaf eich talu am eich trafferth, yn enwedig gan fy mod yn gwybod pa mor bwysig ichi yw cael eich arian yn ei ôl ar draul y cyhoedd. Wedi dweud hynny, bydd yn bosibl inni ddarparu tocyn dwyffordd bws i Aber-cennin ichi os teithiwch yn ystod y cyfnod rhataf. Cefnogwr o gludiant cyhoeddus ydych, heb os nac oni bai. Wedyn bydd rhywun yn cwrdd â chi pan gyrhaeddwch. Rwy’n gobeithio y dewch i gymryd rhan. Nid oes rhaid i mi ddweud, bydd gohebydd o’r papur bro yno ar y dydd; rydym yn dwyn mewn cof fod cyhoeddusrwydd o bwys mwyaf i wleidyddion. Rhowch wybod imi ynglŷn â’r trefniadau cyn gynted ag y bo’n gyfleus, os gwelwch yn dda. Ydwyf, Syr (yr hen gono chi!), eich ufudd was, Ffred Phantastig.We are not a wealthy society, more’s the pity, and therefore I am very sorry that I cannot pay you for your trouble, especially as I know how important it is to you to gain reimbursement from the public purse. Having said that, it will be possible for us to provide a return bus ticket to Aber-cennin for you if you travel during the cheapest period. You are a supporter of public transport, no doubt. Then, someone will meet you when you arrive. I hope you will come to take part. I have no need to say, there will be a correspondent from the local paper there on the day; we bear in mind that publicity is of the greatest importance to politicians. Let me know about the arrangements as soon as it may be convenient, if you please. I am, Sir (you old fool), your humble and obedient servant, Ffred Phantastig.
GWNEUD CAIS AM SWYDD: Ar ôl yr holl broblemau pan o’n i’n gweithio fel lladd nadredd i atal ymosodiad gan drychfilod enfawr yng Nghlinig y Pin yn y goedwig ger yr hen Dŷ Glas sawl blwyddyn yn ôl, mae wedi bod yn anodd i fi ddal ati gyda swydd barhaol. Ond bryd hyn, prin ydy arian – a phawb drosto'i hunan, ac i'r diawl â'r diwethaf yw dywediad y dydd. Felly, pan ddigwyddais i ddod ar draws yr hysbyseb yn y papur bro am swydd briodol iawn, fe deimlai y dylai wneud cais ar unwaith, a dyma beth sgrifennais i —APPLYING FOR A JOB: After all the problems when I was working like crazy to stop the invasion by giant insects in the Pines Clinic in the woods near the old Bluehouse a few years ago, it’s been hard for me to stick at it with a permanent job. But by now, money’s scarce – and everyone for him/her self, and devil take the hindmost, is the saying of the day. So, when I happened to come across the advertisement in the local paper for a very appropriate job, I felt I should apply at once, and here’s what I wrote —
Annwyl Syr neu Fadam! Rwy wedi gweld yr hysbyseb am y swydd o’r enw ‘Cynorthwyydd Hunanlywodraethol Llawn Amser Canolfan Chwedlonol Brynfelin’ yn y papur bro fis hwn, ac rwy’n awyddus iawn i wneud cais am hon. Nid oedd llawer o fanylion yn yr hysbyseb, felly dymunwn ddweud wrthych rywfaint amdanaf fy hun er mwyn profi fy mod yn addas i wneud y gwaith y bydd rhaid i’w gyflawni o ddydd i ddydd. Rwy’n gweithio gartre ar hyn o bryd fel cyfieithydd rhydd ei law, gan gynhyrchu fersiynau hen lawysgrifau wedi’u hysgrifennu mewn ieithoedd marw fel ‘Y Crochan sy Wastad yn Llawn’ o Bahia, Brasil. Felly gallaf ddechrau ar unwaith. Arferwn weithio fel cemegydd, a deuthum yn arbenigwr hunanaddysgedig pan symudais yn ôl i Gymru, o ganlyniad i’m diddordeb yn chwedlau Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig yng Ngwm-ran. Felly mae llawer o brofiad gennyf mewn pethau anarferol.Dear Sir or Madam! I have seen the advertisement for the job of ‘Brynfelin Mythical Centre Full-time Self-managing Assistant’ in the local paper this month, and I am very keen to apply for this. There were not a lot of details in the advertisement, therefore I would like to tell you something about myself in order to prove that I am suitable to do the work that will need to be done from day to day. I work at home at the moment as a freelance translator, producing versions of old manuscripts written in dead languages, such as ‘The Overflowing Pot’ from Bahia, Brazil. So, I can start at once. I used to work as a chemist, and became a self-taught specialist when I moved back to Wales, as a result of my interest in the legends of the Temple of the Hidden Glory in Cwm-ran. So, I have a lot of experience in unusual things.
Rwy wedi bod ati’n dysgu’r Gymraeg drwy gydol f’oes, a thybiaf fy mod cyn rhugled â neb arall erbyn hyn. Rwy newydd sefyll yr arholiad priodol i’r cymhwyster o’r enw ‘Diploma mewn Astudiaethau,’ a ddarperir gan Sefydliadau Cyfun Rhydrawnt a Phontychen. Pam na chynigir hwn gan Goleg Cymraeg a Chymreig? Nid myfi a ŵyr. Llwyddais yn orchestol yn y prawf hwn, a nawr gallaf areithio gan ddefnyddio brawddegau erchyll o gymhleth mewn Cymraeg hynafol, fel y rhai a geir yn ‘Cystrawen y Frawddeg Gymraeg’ gan Melville Richards (Gwasg Prifysgol Cymru Caerdydd; 1970).I have been working hard to learn Welsh all my life, and I think that I am as fluent as anyone else by now. I have just sat the exam for the qualification called ‘Diploma in Studies,’ which is provided by the Combined Institutions of Oxbridge and Camford. Why is this not offered by a Welsh-language Welsh College? I do not know. I passed with flying colours in this test, and now I can orate using horrifyingly complex sentences in Ancient Welsh, such as those in ‘Cystrawen y Frawddeg Gymraeg’ by Melville Richards (University of Wales Press Cardiff; 1970).
Byddwn yn falch o gael cyfle i gefnogi’n hiaith, ein diwylliant, ein hanes, ein chwedlau, a’n harferion od yn y Ganolfan ac i’w hybu yn y gymuned ehangach y tu hwnt – megis trwy hudoliaeth neu beidio. Mae rhaid imi ddweud fy mod yn hoff iawn o anifeiliaid, yn enwedig cathod, ac os bydd angen gallaf drin â phobl yn dda iawn hefyd, yn ôl fy lletywraig arhosol. Rwy’n berffaith siŵr fod y gwasanaeth cymuned yn yr ysgol i blant unigryw, y bu raid imi ei wneud o ganlyniad i gamgymeriad anffodus yn y gweithle, wedi bod yn ddefnyddiol iawn o safbwynt deall pobl ifanc a hŷn a’u gormodedd o fannau gwan. Ymhellach, rwy wedi dod o hyd i oriau agor y Canolfan yn ystod yr wythnos ar eich gwefan, ac yn wir y credaf mai eithriadol o bwysig ydy presenoldeb ar y rhyngrwyd.I would be pleased to get a chance to support our language, our culture, our history, and our strange customs in the Centre and to promote them in the wider community beyond – as if by magic, or not. I must say that I am very fond of animals, especially cats, and if necessary I can deal with people very well too, according to my permanent lodging-lady. I am perfectly sure that the community service in the school for unique children that I had to do on account of an unfortunate mistake in the workplace, has been very useful from the point of view of understanding people, old and young, and their profusion of foibles. Furthermore, I have found the Centre’s opening times during the week on your website, and indeed I believe that an internet-presence is exceptionally important.
Es i ar gwrs o’r enw Hyfforddiant Cyfathrebu Pwrpasol yn Ysgol Ffydd y Ddau Ferthyr Dienw ar Bymtheg a Thrigain yn ddiweddar, wedi’i drefnu gan gangen ranbarthol Cymdeithas Ostyngedig Arolygwyr a Chywirwyr. Rwy’n deall cyfathrebu ac offerynnau cyfathrebu, a gallaf ddatblygu cynllun cyfathrebu syml ar gyfer ein Canolfan, gan ddefnyddio meddalwedd ar gyfer gwefannau i gynyddu ein presenoldeb ar y rhyngrwyd am ddim. Ar ben hynny, hoffwn ddefnyddio rhwydweithiau cymdeithasol i weithio’n agos gyda chynulleidfaoedd newydd ac i ennill incwm, gan ddefnyddio’r cyfryngau i hyrwyddo eich gwaith, trwy ysgrifennu straeon addas ar gyfer y newyddion, a thrwy lunio datganiadau i’r wasg.I went on a course called Appropriate Communication Training in the the Seventy-Seven Faceless Martyrs Faith School recently, organised by the regional branch of the Humble Society of Invigilators and Correctors. I understand communication and tools of communication, and can develop a simple communication plan for our Centre, using website software to increase our presence on the internet for free. On top of that, I would like to use social networks to work closely with new audiences and to earn income, using the media to promote our work, by writing stories suitable for the news, and by fashioning press-releases.
Dim ond dau gwestiwn sydd gennyf, sef yn gyntaf, a fydd angen arnaf wneud ceisiadau am gyllid o gwbl? Rwy wedi ennill maint bach oddi wrth Sefydliad Tywysogaidd Cymru yn y gorffennol (enw sydd yn annealladwy i’m hymennydd dryslyd o leiaf, ond dyna ni, nid dim mor rhyfedd â dyn, ife?), er mwyn gwneud arbrofion cemegol ynglŷn â pherffeithio elicsir clirwelediad o fadarch hudol, a thawelydd y bydd milfeddygon yn ei ddefnyddio ar geffylau, gwartheg ac anifeiliaid eraill. Wedi dweud hynny, gwerthfawrogwn hyfforddiant ychwanegol pe bai hwn ar gael.I have only two questions, namely first, will I need to apply for finance at all? I have won a small amount from the Princely Association of Wales in the past (a name which is incomprehensible to my confused mind at least, but there we are, there’s nowt as strange as folk, is there?), in order to do chemical experiments involved in perfecting a potion of second-sight from magic mushrooms, and tranquilizer that veterinaries use for horses, cattle, and other animals. Having said that, I would appreciate additional training if that were available.
Fy ail gwestiwn yw hwn: beth fydd yr amserau cyfatebol dros y Sul? Fe fyddai’n well gennyf weithio ar ddydd Sadwrn nag ar brynhawn Gwener, gan fod angen imi fynychu seremoni yn y Deml bryd hynny, yn fy rôl fel Ceidwad y Cyfrinachau. Gobeithiaf y diwallech fy anghenion arbennig yn hyn o beth. Rwy’n brwd ddisgwyl eich ymateb. Ryw’n edrych ymlaen at ddechrau cyn gynted ag y bo bosibl ac mewn gwirionedd ofnadwy o gyffrous ydwyf. Yr eiddoch yn gywir, Ffred Phantastig.My second question is this: what will be the equivalent hours over the weekend? I would prefer working on Saturday than on Friday afternoon, as I need to attend a ceremony in the Temple at that time, in my role as Keeper of the Secrets. I hope that you could satisfy my special needs in this. I am keenly awaiting your answer. I look forward to beginning as soon as it may be possible and in truth I am terribly excited. Yours faithfully, Ffred Phantastig.
Wel, dyna ni wedi dod i ben ar y sgwrsio unwaith to, bobol bach! Hwyl am y tro, wela i chi i gyd fis nesaf gyda rhagor o ddiwylliant, materion cyfoes, hysbysebion cymunedol ac yn y blaen, ac ati hyd at gyfoedi – a chofiwch, ‘Tyrd, gad im’ dy gythru. Ni’th ddalaf, ond fe’th ddalaf di’n wir.’Well, there we are at the end of our chattering once again, you folks! Bye-bye for now, I’ll see you all again next month with more culture, current affairs, community announcements, and so on and so forth, ad nauseam – and remember, ‘Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.’

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 3 Ychwanegol

Pennod Dau: Mae Ffred yn Bwyta Mas / Ffred Eats Out

Cyfarchion cynhesaf fy nghyfeillion bore oes! Mor ddymunol ydy cael pleser eich cwmni unwaith yn rhagor. Heddiw mynnaf eich goleuo ynghylch y pwnc llosg o fwyd rhyngwladol. “Yr Eliffant Gwyn” yw fy hoff dŷ bwyta heb gysgod o amheuaeth. Lle lliwgar iawn ydy, sy’n drewi o ffrwyth Indiaidd gwaharddedig. Dychmygwch y ddau hen ddihiryn hynny, Dvaldí a Hlevné, yn noethlymun groen yng Ngardd y Pleserau Daearol (nid oedd angen dail ffigys bryd hynny) lle dan ganghennau coeden bomgranad yr eistedd duw tew a chwardd yn ei ddyblau, ac iddo drwnc hir sarffaidd, clustiau dirfawr sigladwy, a llawer o freichiau fel Mistar Goglais. Ac yno mae’r creadur hyf yn denu’r ddau sy’n newynu am wybodaeth ryseitiau dirgel â dysglau fyrdd o gyrri stemllyd, danteithiol.

Ww, dyw swyddogion Cangen Filwrol newydd yr EFE (hynny yw, yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang) dim yn rhy hoff o gwbl o’r fath ffeuau drygioni ble bydd y bywyd, y diodydd, y sbeisys, y gerddoriaeth ac adloniant arall, a’r naws, yn peri i ddyn lawenychu’n ddirfawr. Yn wir fe allai’r ficeriaid arfog ddwyn cyrch ar y lle unrhyw bryd. Eto i gyd, dim ond apothecari gostyngedig a dibwys wyf fi, wrth gwrs, sy’n tincran gyda hud yn ei amser sbâr, a dyw hi ddim fel petai olyniaeth faith o Ddewiniaid yn y teulu. Dyw’r awdurdodau ddim yn talu fawr o sylw imi, yn enwedig pan wyf wedi bod yn prysur weithio mor ddirgel yn labordy’r Clinig yn Aberdydd. Er gwaethaf fy holl bryderon, felly, ynghylch y pethau ofnadwy sy’n digwydd ym mhob cwr o’r Byd, dw i ddim yn gallu peidio mynychu bwytai cudd, sinemâu tanddaearol, arddangosfeydd anghyfreithlon, a chyrsiau astrus.

Nid gŵr dewr mohonof fi, ond bydd yr ofn yn gwneud i’r suddion creadigol lifo. Yna fe fyddaf yn ymdrwytho yn y syniadau rhyfedd fydd yn codi bob amser i lenwi fy nychymyg ffrwythlon a’m hysbrydoli. O bryd i’w gilydd fe deimlaf fel petai Grym Diatal y Ddaear yn arllwys trwof fi, hyd yn oed, gan fy ngalw yn fy mlaen tuag at ryw Fyd Arall. Rwy’n rhyw hanner breuddwydio mai os byddaf yn ymladd yn ôl cyn amled ag y medraf yn fy ffordd fy hun, dyna fydd un i’r awdurdodau gormesol. Dyma adroddiad wedi’i seilio ar fy mhrofiad fy hun felly, gobeithio byddwch chi’n ei fwynhau, neu gael rhyw les ganddo o leiaf.

Warmest greetings my lifelong buddies! It is so gratifying to have the pleasure of your company once again. Today I wish to enlighten you regarding the burning topic of international cuisine. “The While Elephant” is my favourite restaurant without a shadow of a doubt. It is a most colourful place, which reeks of forbidden Indian fruit. Imagine those two old scoundrels, Dvaldí and Hlevné, stark-naked in the Garden of Earthly Delights (there was no need for fig-leaves at that time) where sits, under the boughs of a pomegranate tree, a fat god who’s laughing heartily, with a long serpentine trunk, humungous flappable ears, and lots of arms like Mr Tickle. And there the cheeky creature tempts the two who hunger after the knowledge of secret recipes with myriad dishes of delicious, steaming curry.

Ooh, the officers of the new Military Branch of EGO (that is, Ecclesia Generalis Omnipotensque) are not too fond at all of such iniquitous dens where the food, the drinks, the spices, the music and other entertainment, and the atmosphere, send one into paroxysms of delight. Indeed, the armed vicars could raid the place any time. Then again, I am but a humble and unimportant apothecary, of course, who tinkers with magic in his spare time, and it’s not as if there is a long line of Magicians in the family. The authorities do not pay too much attention to me, especially when I have been busy working so secretly in the laboratory of the Clinic in Aberdydd. Despite all my worries, therefore, regarding the terrible things that are occurring in every corner of the World, I cannot restrain myself from frequenting hidden food-outlets, underground cinemas, illegal exhibitions, and abstruse courses.

I am not a brave man, but the fear makes the creative juices flow. Then I steep myself in the strange ideas that always arise to fill my fruitful imagination and inspire me. On occasion, I even feel like the Earth’s Unstoppable Force is pouring through me, calling me on towards some Other World. I just sort of dream that if I fight back as often as I can in my own way, then that’ll be one in the eye for the oppressive authorities. This is a report based on my own experience, then, I hope you’ll enjoy it, or at least benefit somewhat from it.

Rwy’n dwlu ar fwyd sbeisiog, ac yn wir, am daith ar ffigar-êt coginiol oedd i ddod. Licswn i gyfleu ichi ychydig o’r naws a brofais y tro cyntaf y gwnes i dywyllu’i ddrws yn laslanc gwirion, amser maith yn ôl, ond eto i gyd, mae hen gof gan hen gi, onid oes? Efallai y byddaf yn dychwelyd yno am yr eildro cyn hir, a gobeithiaf y cofiant yr hen ddihareb, cân di bennill mwyn i’th nain, fe gân dy nain i tithau, pryd bynnag y gwnelwyf.I love spicy food, and indeed, what a culinary roller-coaster journey was to come. I would like to convey to you a little of the atmosphere I experienced the first time I darkened its door as a stripling lad, ages ago, but then again, an old dog has an old memory, doesn’t it? Perhaps I shall return for a second rime before long, and I hope they will remember the old proverb, sing a sweet song to your Gran, and then she’ll be your biggest fan, whenever I might do so.
Cyn ddistawed â'r bedd ydoedd yno am hanner dydd un Sadwrn gwlyb yng nghanol yr haf (roedd yn dawelach a bod yn onest, o feddwl am yr holl gybiaid oedd yn caboli’r cerrig beddi ac yn plannu blodau parhaol caled yn ymylon y fynwent y drws nesaf). ‘Rarglwydd roeddent yn cael hwyl a sbort a sbri o bob math ymhlith meirwon yr oesau, er gwaethaf y tywydd gwael. Yn yr oes yr ydym yn byw ynddi, fe ddylai pawb ddathlu rhodd marwolaeth heddychlon ac ebargofiant tragwyddol yn ei dilyn yn fwy aml, gan fod hon a wna i fyw fod yn werth chwil, rwy’n credu. O, y pethau rwy wedi eu gweld yn ystod fy mywyd, y cofion i gyd sy’n aros gennyf. Ond un dydd fe fydd popeth wedi mynd fel dagrau yn y glaw, pan ddaw’r amser i fi gysgu am byth. Wel am lol botes maip! Digon yw digon ar yr holl synfyfyrio athroniaethol, yr hen glebrwr.It was as quiet as the grave there at midday one wet Saturday in the middle of the summer (it was quieter to be honest, thinking about all the cubs who were polishing the grave-stones and planting hardy perennials in the verges of the cemetery next door). My Lord, they were having all manner of fun and enjoyment and diversion amongst the dead of the ages, despite the foul weather. In the period in which we live, everyone should celebrate more often the gift of a peaceful death and everlasting oblivion following it, because this is what makes living worthwhile, I believe. O, the things I’ve seen during my life, all the memories which remain with me. But one day everything will be gone like tears in the rain, when the time comes for me to sleep forever. Well, what a lot of old tosh! Enough is enough with all the philosophical musing, you old chatter-box.
Felly awn ni yn ein blaen gyda hanes yr epiffani o ran fy mlasbwyntiau. Roeddwn yn teimlo fel petawn yn bwyta gwellt fy ngwely ar ôl trallodion yr wythnos honno. Yn sydyn, fodd bynnag, roedd yn fy nharo i taw cam dros y trothwy yw hanner y daith, a chloffi rhwng dau feddwl a wnes i am eiliad gan ystyried wrthyf fy hun. Wedi dweud hynny, roedd y rheolwr cyn falched â phaun, ac yn glustiau i gyd pan ofynnais am y fwydlen. Brasgamasai fe tuag ataf oddi mewn i’w adeilad tra oeddwn yn llechi’r tu mas iddo. Gŵr urddasol, swmpus oedd e, yn gwisgo lifrai sidan, wyrddlas ac arni ysgwyddarnau a botymau o aur; ac am ei ben roedd twrban ysgarlad wedi’i addurno â phlu ffenics. Fel rhyw was y Nawab yn yr Oes Fictoraidd oedd e. Neu fe ddichon yr oedd yn ellyll golygus ond dychrynllyd o chwedl Arabaidd megis y Mil Noswaith ac Un, sut y gwyddwn i yn fy nghyni? Ond beth bynnag a fuasai roeddwn wedi fy mesmereiddio gan ei farf, oedd mor gringoch â’r Uffern ddydd Wener y Groglith. Yn wir, yr oedd i fod yn achlysur arbennig dros ben.So, let us proceed with the tale of the epiphany concerning my taste-buds. I was feeling so hungry I could eat my own pillow, after the tribulations of that week. Suddenly, however, it struck me that a step across the threshold is half the journey, and I hovered between two courses for an instant, cogitating internally. Having said that, the manager was as pleased as Punch, and all ears, when I asked for the menu. He had stridden towards me from within his premises while I was lurking outside it. He was a dignified, substantial fellow, wearing sea-green silken livery, with epaulettes and gold buttons, and on his head was a scarlet turban adorned with a phoenix feather. Like some servant to the Nawab in the Victorian Age he was. Or perhaps he was a handsome but terrifying demon from an Arabian tale such as the Thousand-and-One Nights, how was I to know, in my distress? But whatever he might have been, I was mesmerized by his beard, which was as ginger as Hell on Good Friday. Truly, it was to be an exceptionally special occasion.
Y tu mewn, yr oedd y lle mor chwaethus. Roedd darnau dieithr o waith llaw ym mhob man; roedd hyd yn oed y waliau wedi’u haddurno â lluniau o dduwdodau gleision, a’u cnau coco enfawr a’u gwaywffyn anferthol. Bu bron i’m llygaid sefyll allan o’m ben. Nid oedd ddim byd fel ystrydeb ffiaidd, felly. Ar ben hynny, doedd hi ddim yn rhy boeth na swnllyd, heblaw am y gorgan ddi-baid a lifai o’r cyrn sain fel oernad rhyw gath ar fin marw (ac roeddwn eisoes yn gwybod gormod am hynny, ond well imi gadw at y stori). Serch hynny, doedd dim gormod o fynychwyr (nid yr un enaid byw heblaw amdanaf fi) ac roedd digon o le i chwipio chwannen (fel petai), diolch byth, achos fy mod yn casáu mannau caeedig. Os bydda i’n teimlo’n anesmwyth, fe fydd tuedd i fi ymddwyn yn debyg i goblyn bach anwar, fydd yn bloeddio ac yn udo, a cheisio rhedeg i ffwrdd fel gwenci.Inside, the place was so tasteful. There were alien pieces of hand-craft everywhere; even the walls were decorated with pictures of blue divinities, and their huge coconuts and enormous spears. My eyes almost popped out of my head. It was nothing like a foul stereotype, then. Furthermore, it was neither too hot nor too noisy, apart from the ceaseless chanting that flowed from the loudspeakers like the screeching of some cat at death’s door (and I already knew too much about that, but I had better keep to the story). Despite that, there was not a glut of patrons (not a single living soul apart from me) and there was enough space to swing a cat (as it were), thank goodness, because I detest enclosed spaces. If I feel uneasy, there is a tendency for me to behave like an uncivilized imp, who shouts and wails, and tries to run off like the wind.
Yn unol â chyngor y fisir mawreddog, fe gefais i saig arbennig y tŷ sef “Dial yr Ymerawdwr” am ddecpunt ar hugain gan gynnwys tri chwrs a pheint. Nid craig o arian ydwyf erbyn hyn, ddim o bell ffordd, ac nid oeddwn i erbyn hynny ychwaith gan fy mod i newydd golli fy swydd yn y gwaith cemeg. Y mab a anwyd i rôt nid eiff byth i bum ceiniog, fel y meddant. Ond, roedd llawer o arian parod yn fy mhoced i ar ôl i fi dreulio’r bore’ma yn gwerthu hufen harddwch yn cynnwys ffwr cath a the mate, (hynny yw, math o drwyth a wneir o ddail llwyn Ilex paraguayensis) y tu allan i’r archfarchnad enfawr o’r enw Tesbyro. Roedd rhaid i fi wneud gwasanaeth cymunedol o ganlyniad i hynny ond stori hollol wahanol yw honno.In accordance with the imposing vizier’s advice, I had the house special, namely “Emperor’s Revenge” for thirty pounds including three courses and a pint. I am not made of money right now, not by a long chalk, nor was I was then either, as I had just lost my job in the chemical works. He who is born to fourpence will never achieve fivepence, as they say. But there was a lot of loose change in my pocket after I had spent that morning selling beauty cream containing cat fur and matte tea (that is, a type of infusion made from the leaves of the Ilex paraguayensis) outside the enormous supermarket called Tesbyro. I had to do community service as a result of that, but that’s a totally different story.
Fe wnes i ddechrau gyda chwrs cyntaf o selsig Morgannwg â sinsir, garlleg, a chwmin, dysgl o gawl cocos a gwymon, ynghyd â bara naan brith a chaws Caerffili a chyrens ynddo, ar gyfer llyncu’r diferion olaf. Roedd y cyfuniad o sawrau estronol fel symffoni ar daflod fy ngenau. Drwy’r amser roeddwn i’n dal i feddwl taw gormod o bwdin a dagith gi, ond na allwn ffrwyno fy chwant bwyd. Wedyn, ymwrthodais y cyrri malwod arferol, ac yn ei le, mwynheais gyrri cig eidion â tsilis sybachog, ychwanegol, a chwilboeth ar y cythraul ydoedd hefyd, am ei fod yn cynnwys puprennod poethaf y byd, sef “medelwr Carolina.” Sut y gwn i? Wel, fe’u gwerthir yn Nhesbyro, sydd y lle llai drwg i fynd i siopa, yn fy marn ostyngedig i.I started with a first course of Glamorganshire sausage with ginger, garlic, and cumin, a dish of cockle and seaweed soup, together with speckled naan bread containing Caerphilly cheese and currants, for gobbling down the last drops. The combination of strange odours was like a symphony on my palate. All the time, I kept on thinking that too much pudding chokes a dog, but I could not restrain my appetite. Then, I forewent the usual snail curry, and in its place I enjoyed beef curry with extra crinkly chillis, and devilish hot it was, too, as it contained the world’s hottest peppers, namely “Carolina huntsman.” How do I know? Well, they are sold in Tesbyro, which is the least bad place to go shopping, in my humble opinion.
Wedi hyn oll, bues o fewn y dim i drengi o syched, ac roeddwn i’n gorfod cael peint (neu ddau) o lagyr, o’r enw “Glas y Gorlan,” i ddiffodd y tân eiriasboeth yn fy ngheg. Cofiwch chi’n awr na byddaf yn yfed fel rheol ddim ond poteli bach o gwrw chwerw gwan fel “Paun Gwirion.” Ni bydd Enwen fy lojar yn gadael imi lymeitian ar unrhyw beth mwy meddwol os gall hi fy rhwystro. Ond ddyddiau a fu, ac yn enwedig yn yr ogof o londer honno, oedd yn dywyll a swynol, ni allwn i ddim peidio. ‘Neno'r mawredd, roedd y lagyr hwnnw cyn gryfed â gwenwyn y weddw ddu! Mewn gwynfyd, cwplais i’r pryd o fwyd gyda hufen iâ cnau’r India, a saws o ganel a chlof arno.After all this, I was on the verge of dying of thirst, and I had to have a pint (or two) of lager, called “Kingfisher,” to extinguish the scorching fire in my mouth. Remember now that I drink as a rule nothing but small bottles of bitter beer like “Mad Peacock.” Enwen my lodger won’t let me tipple on anything more intoxicating if she can stop me. But in days past, and in particular in that cave of delights that was dark and enchanting, I could not resist. Great Heavens, that lager was as strong as the black widow’s poison! In ecstasy, I finished the meal with nutmeg ice-cream and cinnamon and clove sauce.
Mor llawen â’r gog ar y gainc oeddwn, er bu bron i’m perfeddion ffrwydro. Ond o gofio hyn, rhaid i fi roi gair o rybudd i chi: byddwch yn ofalus wrth ddefnyddio’r cyfleusterau yno. Pan ddechreuodd fy ngholuddyn mawr chwyrnu fel ci’n sugno’r mêr o asgwrn suddlon, rhuthrais i’r tŷ bach, sy’n dwt ond yn bêr iawn, lle caeodd y drws yn glep y tu ôl i fi. Yn anffodus, aeth y clo yn sownd, ac ar ôl hanner awr o ymdrechu ar y sedd borslen, wedi’i dilyn gan awr o weiddi drwy dwll y clo, fe’m hachubwyd gan weinydd yn ei lifrai odidog. Ar ben hynny, oherwydd fy mhrofiad anesmwythol, roedd o’r pwys mwyaf imi dawelu fy nerfau carpiog. Ar unwaith, felly, fe chwafftiais ddysglaid o goffi Cymreig (mae hon yn cynnwys llawer mwy o wisgi, na choffi Gwyddelig cyffredin) ac wedyn, yn syth, un arall.I was as happy as a sand-boy, although my insides were almost exploding. But, while I remember this, I must give you a word of warning: be careful whilst using the conveniences there. When my large intestine began to growl like a dog sucking the marrow from a juicy bone, I rushed to the latrine, which is bijou but most agreeable, where the door slammed shut behind me. Unfortunately, the lock got stuck, and after half an hour’s effort on the porcelain seat, followed by an hour of shouting through the keyhole, I was saved by a waiter in his splendid uniform. Moreover, because of my disconcerting experience, it was of the greatest importance for me to calm my tattered nerves. At once, therefore, I despatched a cup of Welsh coffee (this contains much more whiskey that ordinary Irish coffee) and then straightaway, another.
Yn y pendraw, roeddwn yn cydganu nerth esgyrn fy mhen gyda’r gerddoriaeth gyfareddol gan fytheirio’n uchel. Fe gefais fy nghanmol i’r cymylau yn y Sansgrit coethaf am fod mor ddewr, siŵr o fod (dyna ichi iaith liwgar a mynegol). Rwy wedi bod wrthi hi’n dysgu am bethau fel gwyddorau ac arwyddluniau, ac ieithoedd marw fel Mesmes o Ethiopia, a Nyawaygi o Awstralia, a Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe o Frasil. Rwy’n breuddwydio am gyfieithu rhywbeth diddorol a diddanol i’r Gymraeg yn y dyfodol ('Hanes Gwarthus y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog,' er enghraifft), ac rwy o fewn ychydig i lwyddo! Dyna ddysgu gydol oes ichi, onid ife? Ond digon am fy hobïau i.In the end, I was singing along at the top of my lungs with the enchanting music while belching loudly. I was praised to the heavens in the most refined Sanskrit for being so brave, probably (there’s a colourful and expressive language for you). I have been busy at it learning about things like alphabets and pictograms, and dead languages like Mesmes from Ethiopia, and Nyawaygi from Australia, and Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe from Brazil. I dream of translating something interesting and entertaining into Welsh in the future (‘The Shameful Tale of the Boisterous Red Monkeys,’ for instance), and I’m close to succeeding! That’s life-long learning for you, isn’t it? But enough about my hobbies.
Fe’m danfonwyd i’r drws cyn pen dim gan y rheolwr a gadwasai lygad barcut arnaf trwy gydol y perfformiad swynol. Ac wrth gwrs fe fues i’n foesgar iawn pan ddangosodd y sieff ei gyllyll fwyaf miniog imi ar fy ffordd allan. Kali dduw dinistr a ŵyr beth fyddai wedi digwydd pe buaswn i wedi yfed “Teigr” neu “Cobra”! Mae’n well gennyf gathod nag adar, ond yr wyf yn ofni’r rhai mawr fel llewod ac yn y blaen, heb sôn am ymlusgiaid heb goesau! Mae walabïod (a adwaenir fel gor-gangarŵod) yn wych hefyd, ond tueddant i fod yn haerllug, os cânt y cyfle (fel yn y stori 'Hanes yr Wyth Walabi Drwg oedd Eisiau Cymryd yr Holl Fyd Drosodd')!I was shown to the door in no time by the manager who had kept and eagle eye on me throughout the magical performance. And of course I was very polite when the chef showed me his sharpest knife on my way out. Kali god of destruction knows what would have happened were I to have drunk “Tiger” or “Cobra”! I prefer cats to birds, but I’m frightened of large ones like lions and so on, not to mention legless reptiles! Wallabies (which are also known as dwarf-kangaroos) are great too, but they tend to be impudent if they get the chance (like in the story 'The History of the Eight Wicked Wallabies who Wanted to Take Over the Whole World')!
Fe fyddwn i’n eich annog chi i gyd i fynd yno hefyd er mwyn drachtio’r awyrgylch anhraethadwy o sbeisiog. Mae’r lle ar gyrion y dref i lawr llwybr gefn rhwng mynwent fechan Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig (ac yno mae pencampwr dartiau o’r oes a fu o’r enw Lleu’n gorwedd dan y gro) a maes parcio Tesbyro. Nid oes ddim arwydd y tu allan iddo, felly bydd rhaid ichi ddilyn eich trwyn. Mae yna rywbeth at ddant pawb, os hoffwch bryd o fwyd gwynias sy’n seiliedig ar ymborth Cymreig gyda llond bwced o berlysiau. Fe gewch chi werth eich arian, a hwyl, ar yr un pryd, heb os nac oni bai. Gair i gall (heddychwr ydwyf, felly ni bydd ffon i’r anghall) – yfwch wydreidiau o ddŵr a thafelli o lemon ynddynt yn unig (cwrw yn y bol, twrw yn y pen, wedi’r cwbl!); peidiwch â chanu wrth gwafftio’ch cyri; a, myn Kali, osgowch y tsilis crych fel y pla!I would encourage you all to go there too in order to imbibe the indescribable spicy atmosphere. The place is on the outskirts of the town down a back alley between the small graveyard of the Temple of the Hidden Glory (and there under the gravel lies the champion darts-player from a former age named Lleu) and Tesbyro. There’s no sign outside it, so you’ll have to use your nose. There’s something there to everyone’s taste, if you like a red-hot meal which is based on Welsh foodstuffs with a bucketful of herbs. You’ll get your money’s worth, and have fun, at the same time, without a doubt. A word to the wise (I’m a pacifist, so there’s no stick for the unwise) – drink only glasses of water with slices of lemon in (beer in the belly, tumult in the head, after all!); don’t sing whilst quaffing your curry, and, by Kali, avoid the wrinkled chillis like the plague!

 

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 2 Ychwanegol

Pennod Tri: Mae Ffred yn Mynd i Siopa / Ffred Goes Shopping

Ffrindiau, Ddaearolion, Gyd Ddewiniaid! Ffred sy ma ‘to. Beth am hyn? Rwy wedi bod yn mynychu sesiynau ar Gyfathrebu Swynol yn Neuadd y Cymrodyr yng nghanol dre Pyrthyfall yn ddiweddar. Nes i sefyll yr arholiad ar ben y cwrs ac roedd rhaid i ni siarad yn rhugl yn Hen Iaith y Nw Yrth am bynciau fel alcemeg ddamcaniaethol, astroleg wyddonol, rhifoleg gymwysedig, ac yn y blaen. Nes i lawer o waith wrth baratoi, gan gynnwys sgrifennu sgriptiau o’r blaen llaw a’u dysgu nhw i gyd ar go’. Felly teg dweud ‘dwn i’m llawer am y fath bethau. Dw i’m yn gallu dweud wrthoch chi be’n enwedig ddigwyddodd, na chrybwyll gair o’r hyn a adroddais ar y dydd, achos fod e’n gyfrinachol iawn. Ond rwy’n gallu dweud i fi fwynhau’r rhan hon o’r arholiad yn fawr iawn, ac i fi lwyddo, diolch byth, er bod hi’n cael a chael ar adegau! Felly yn lle malu awyr wrth sôn am ‘ny, rwy wedi penderfynu bod yn ysgafngalon am newid a mynegi’n llais doniol i drwy rannu ychydig fanylion gyda chi am ‘y nghefndir a ‘mywyd hyd yn hyn.

Friends, Earthlings, Fellow Wizards! What about this? I’ve been attending sessions on Beguiling Communication in Comrades’ Hall in Hellsgate town centre recently. I sat the exam at the end of the course, and we needed to speak fluently in the Old Language of the Nw Yrth about topics such as theoretical alchemy, scientific astrology, contemporary numerology, and so on. I did lots of work preparing, including writing scripts beforehand and learning them off by heart. So, it’s fair to say that I don’t know a lot about such things. I can’t tell you exactly what happened, nor mention a word of what I recited on the day, as it’s highly confidential. But I can say I enjoyed that part of the exam very much, and I passed, thank goodness, although it was touch and go in places. So instead of going on about that, I’ve decided to be light-hearted for a change and express my comedic voice by sharing some details with you about my background and my life up to now.

Wi’n dysgu Cymraeg ers achau erbyn hyn ch’mod, wastad yn dysgu falle. Wi’n dod o'r Canolbarth yn wreiddiol wrth gwrs, ar bwys pwynt canolog ein gwlad fechan ond hudol ni, yn ôl yr Arolwg Ordnans. Es i i weithio yn rhywle arall yn y pen draw (sa i’n gallu dweud ble, mae’n breifat) fel gwyddonydd. Achan arbennig dw i, ch’wel (fel dywed y nhad), ac o’n i’n arfer neud arbrofion cyn i fi gael tipyn bach o drafferth gyda’r swydd. Wedyn, des i adre i Gymru heulog flynyddoedd yn ôl pan gaeth cydweithiwr ddamwain yn y gweithle, ond ddim fi oedd ar fai, nac achosais i mo’r problemau chwaith. Peth o ddewin yn y labordy gemeg dw i, fe ddweda i wrthoch chi.I’ve been learning Welsh for ages now you know, always learning, perhaps. I come from the Midlands originally of course, near the centre-point of our small but magical land, according to the Ordnance Survey. I went to work somewhere else in the end (I can’t say where, it’s private) as a scientist. I’m a special boy you see (as my dad says), and I used to do experiments till I had a bit of trouble with the job. Then I came back to sunny Wales years ago when a co-worker had an accident in the workplace, but I wasn’t to blame, and I didn’t cause the problem either. I’m a bit of a wizard in the chemistry laboratory, I’ll tell you.
O’n i’n ceisio creu “elicsir ieuenctid,” w (wel, hufen harddu ar gyfer plorod a rhychau). Do’n i'n hunan ddim yn cael problem gyda’r dasg, ond oedd yr holl beth yn ofnadw, a dweud y gwir, pan ddes i â nghath ddu lwcus i mewn i’r lab a bwytaodd hi’r stwff yn lle i “Byrbrydau Titw” arferol. Bu bron iddi fynd yn anweladwy, fel ysbryd yn y tarth, mewn ffordd. Gaeth y Doethur da o’r enw Rhisiart Rhuddygl (a chemegydd anghyffredin ydy e hefyd) sioc aruthrol pan glywodd e sŵn rhywbeth na allai fe weld yn canu grwndi ar i ddesg, a thaflodd e i ddysglaid o de mate oer drosti. O, aeth y greadures fach yn wirion bost a neidio i’r pot o gemegion gan oernadu fel cyhyraeth. Aeth yr hylif seimllyd ym mhob man, ymlithrodd Rhisiart, a chwympo ar y nyfyn-ysbryd annwyl, gan regi bob yn ail air fel cwrcyn.I was trying to create an “elixir of youth,” mun (well, beauty cream for spots and wrinkles). I myself didn’t have a problem with the task, but the whole thing was awful, to tell the truth, when I brought my lucky black cat into the lab and she ate all the stuff instead of her usual “Kitty Snacks.” She almost went invisible, like a ghost in the mist, in a way. The good Doctor named Richard Radish (who’s an extraordinarily good chemist, too) had a terrible shock when he heard the sound of something unseen purring on his desk, and threw his cup of cold maté tea over her. O, the little creature went bonkers and jumped into the pot of chemicals wailing like a banshee. The slimy liquid went everywhere, Richard slipped, and fell on my dear familiar spirit, swearing like a tom-cat and turning the air blue.
Sa i eisiau sgwrsio amdani, os wi’n hollol onest, mae'n ddigon i hala rhwng tramp a'i gwdyn. Ymhellach, sa i’n gallu siarad amdani, gan fod gorchymyn y llys yn fy ngwahardd i. Digon yw dweud i’r gath oedd wedi’i hanafu ar hap ailfagu blas at fwyd bellach, ond mae Dr Prisiart yn dal i aros oddi ar waith (fe ddwedwn i taw mitiso bant mae e) er i’w asennau ysig wella’n foddhaol o’r diwedd. Ar ôl hynny oedd raid i fi weithio mewn ysgol fel rhan o’r gwasanaeth cymuned, ond oedd yn rhy anodd a ges i broblem enfawr un dydd Sadwrn wedi bwyta cyri eithriadol o boeth y noson gynt (Jiw, wi’n dwlu ar gyri mawlod sbeislyd), ond stori arall yw hynny.I don’t want to chat on about it, if I’m totally honest; it’s enough to upset anyone. And more than that, I can’t talk about it, because the court order prevents me. It’s enough to say that the cat that was injured by accident has got her appetite back now, but Dr Prichard is still staying off work (I’d say that he’s mitching off), although his broken ribs healed satisfactorily in the end. After that, I had to work in a school as part of the community service, but it was too hard and I had an enormous problem one Saturday having eaten an exceptionally hot curry the night before (gosh, I love spicy snail curry), but that’s another story.
Ta be, wi’n byw gartre erbyn hyn ar fy mhen fy hunan yn nhŷ mawr ym Mrynfelin, gyda’n lojar (neu’n “lletywraig” a bod yn posh ac yn fanwl gywir ar yr un pryd) o’r enw Enwen. Mae’n ddiddorol iawn, mae’r enw’n golygu rhywbeth fel y llaeth lled sur sy’n aros yn y fuddai wedi corddi’r ymenyn. Menyw hyfryd yw hi, a’i chroen fel menyn. Wi’n teimlo fel sen i wedi nabod hi ar hyd yn oes, ch’wel. Sdim raid dweud mod i’n gorfod helpu Enwen yn y tŷ, wrth gwrs. So hi’n gofyn i fi neud llawer, achos bod hi’n datgan mod i’n “dderyn,” beth bynnag mae hynny’n olygu. Ond wedyn fe fydd hi’n dweud bod “adar o'r un lliw hedant i'r un lle,” felly bydd popeth yn iawn tra arhosa hi yma yn yn nyth cysurus, sbo.Anyway, I’m living at home now on my own in a big house in Brynfelin, with my lodger (or my “lettinglady” to be posh and totally accurate at the same time) called Enwen. It’s very interesting, the name means something like the rather sour milk that remains in the churn when you’ve churned the butter. She’s a lovely lady, and her skin’s like butter. I feel like I’ve known her all my life. Needless to say I have to help Enwen in the house, of course. She doesn’t ask me to do lots, because she declares that I’m a bit of a “bird,” whatever that means. But then she says that “birds of a feather flock together,” so everything’ll be OK while we stay here in our comfy nest, I s’pose.
Fe fydd hi’n gweiddi arna i dim ond os bachgen dwl fydda i. Hmm, drwy’r amser, te, mae hi’n fishi iawn! Naeth hi weiddi’r dydd o’r blaen pan gollais i’r crwban, a daethon ni o hyd iddo fe yn y peiriant golchi llestri sy’m yn gweithio slawer dydd. Diar, diar, oedd yn ddoniol ac yn drist ar yr un pryd, gan fod e’n trio gaeafgysgu. Oedd e’n lliw chwith erbyn ny, ac mae dal i fod yn wyrdd, er i fi drio beintio fe, ond naeth hynna mo'r tro, sa i’n gwybod pam. Sut bynnag, yn ôl i’r brif stori. Ambell waith, fe fydd angen i fi siopa. O, nefi bliw!She only shouts at me when I’m a silly boy. Hmm, all the time, then, she’s very busy! She shouted at me the other day when I lost the tortoise, and we found him in the dishwasher which hasn’t worked for a long time. Dear, dear, it was funny and sad at the same time, because he was trying to hibernate. He was a funny colour by then and he’s still green, although I tried to paint him, but that didn’t do the trick, I don’t know why. Anyway, back to the main story. Sometimes, I need to go shopping. O, Lordy!
Sa i’n lico siopa o gwbl. Yn wir, wi’n casáu siopa. Wi’n meddwl bod hyn achos bod yn mam yn arfer mynd â fi o gwmpas y ddinas pan o’n i’n ddim o beth. Bob dydd, mae’n debyg, fe fydden ni’n mynd i gannoedd ar gannoedd o siopau. Fe fyddwn i wedi mwynhau chwarae yn y parc sen i wedi gallu. O’n i mor ddiflas â’r peth mwya diflas yn y byd crwn cyfan, credwch chi fi. Oedd yn boeth, ac yn rhy swnllyd yn y siopau, ac oedd gormod o bobl a dim digon o le i symud. O’n i’n ddiawl bach ewn oedd yn sgrechain a llefain, a thrio rhedeg bant. Ww, wi’n teimlo fel ny eto, o bryd i'w gilydd, ond wi di dysgu bod raid i chi wynebu'r canlyniadau pryd bynnag yr â pethau o chwith. A wnelir liw nos a welir liw dydd, meddai y nhad, ac oedd e yn llygad i le yn i farn.I don’t like shopping at all. In fact, I hate shopping. I think that this is because my mum used to take me around the city when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Every day, it seems, we’d go to hundreds and hundreds of shops. I’d have liked to play in the park if I could have. I was as bored as the most bored thing in the entire world, believe you me. It was hot, and too noisy in the shops, and there were too many people and not enough room to move. I was a cheeky little devil who screamed and cried and tried to run off. Oooh, I still feel like that, from time to time, but I’ve learned that you have to face the music whenever things go wrong. Whatever’s done by night is seen by day, said my dad, and he was quite right.
Unwaith, nes i ddianc, pan doedd mam ddim yn edrych, ac es i yn y lifft, lle nes i wthio i bob botwm. Aeth y lifft yn sownd, ac oedd angen arna i gael yn achub gan ddyn tân. Gŵr mawr cryf oedd e, ac yn gwisgo lifrai hyfryd. Oni bai amdano fe, fe fyddwn i yno o hyd. Wedi ny, oedd raid i fi gael y nghlymu yn dynn i fam gan gordyn, rhag ofn i fi ddianc unwaith to! A hefyd, wi’n dwlu ar ddiffoddwyr tân byth oddi ar hynny. Ac edrychwch arna i nawr, wedi tyfu lan yn ddyn tal, dewr. Falle galla i fod yn ddyn tân ryw ddydd fuan – daw'r dywediad ‘Daw dydd y bydd mawr y rhai bychain” i gof, wi’n meddwl. Fe fydda i’n codi llaw ar bob injan dân bob tro y gwela i un ohonyn nhw’n rhuthro lawr yn stryd ni a’i chorn yn canu’n uchel pan fydda i wedi rhoi’r tŷ ar dân.Once, I escaped, when mum wasn’t looking, and I went in the lift, where I pressed every button. The lift got stuck, and I needed to be rescued by a fireman. He was a big strong man, wearing a lovely uniform. If it wasn’t for him, I would still be there. After that I had to be attached tightly to mum by a cord, in case I escaped again! And also, I’ve loved firefighters ever since then. And look at me now that I’ve grown up into a tall brave man. Perhaps I can be a fireman someday soon – the saying “The day is coming when the little ones will be on top” comes to mind, I think. I wave at every fire engine every time one of them rushes down our street with its siren blaring loudly when I set the house on fire.
Felly, y nghas beth yw siopa, hyd yn oed nawr. Wel, ta beth, wi mewn oed nawr, siŵr iawn, ac weithiau, rhaid i fi fynd i siopa, lico neu beidio. Rhaid i ddyn fwyta, meddan nhw. Bydda i’n trio cynllunio taith i’r siopau pan fydd hi’n dawel, os wi’n gallu, ddim ar fore dydd Sadwrn yn bendant (mae da fi gofion brawychus am ny, ac wi’n deffro o hunllef gan chwythu amdani nawr ac yn y man, ond dyna stori hollol wahanol!). Gwna i restr fanwl o’r holl bethau bydda i eisiau prynu, a gobeithio galla i ddod o hyd i bopeth mewn un siop fawr, mewn archfarchnad, mewn gwirionedd.So, my most hated thing is shopping, even now. Well, anyway, I’m grown up now, sure enough, and sometimes, I must go shopping, like it or not. A man must eat, they say. I try to plan the trip to the shops when it’s quiet, if I can, not on Saturday mornings, definitely (I’ve got terrifying memories about that, and I wake up from a nightmare sweating about it now and then. but that’s a totally different story). I make a detailed list of all the things I want to buy, and hope I can find everything in one big shop, in a supermarket, if truth be told.
Tesbyro yw’r fan lleia drwg i siopa, a’i henw’n golygu “canu grwndi wrth i chi orwedd yng ngwres yr haul,” sa i’n deall pam. Ni waeth befo am ny. Wi’n lico archfarchnadoedd i ryw fesur, ch’wel, achos bod chi’n gallu chwarae gyda’r trolïau, gan sglefrio lan a lawr. Www, crwtyn mawr dw i to! Wel, unwaith yn ddyn, dwywaith yn blentyn yw’r ddihareb, ac wi’n cytuno’n llwyr. Ges i bryd o dafod gan dditectif y siop, unwaith neu ddwy, neu dair, a bod yn onest. Gorau po leia a ddywedir am ny te, ond oedd i lifrai’n ysblennydd. Serch ny, a i o gwmpas y lle uffernol yn yr un drefn bob tro, o'r naill ben i'r llall, cyn gynted â phosib! Ac fe fydda i’n cymryd arna i taw capel bychan ydy, ac yn llawn gwynt arogldarth a symbolau cyfrin.Tesbyro is the least bad place to shop, and its name means “purring while lying in the sun’s warmth,” I don’t understand why. Never mind about that. I like supermarkets to some extent, you see, as you can play with the trolleys, sliding up and down. Oooh, I’m still a big kid! Well, once a man, twice a child is the proverb, and I entirely agree. I had a telling off from the store detective once or twice, or three times, to be honest. Least said about that the better, but his uniform was resplendent. Despite that, I go around the hellish place in the same order every time, from one end to the other, as quickly as possible! And I pretend that it’s a little chapel, full of the aroma of incense and arcane symbols.
Ac wedyn, mynd ati bydda i, wedi’r cwbl, chwery mab noeth, ni chwery mab newynog. Fe ddechreua i gyda ffrwythau a llysiau (madarch a tsilis yn enwedig), wedyn bara, menyn a llaeth, wedyn grawnfwyd, ar ôl ny bwyd mewn tun (heb anghofio saws cyri), a ffynonellau protein fel toffw, cynhyrchion soia, neu fwydydd mycoprotein megis “Quorn.” Fe gwpla i da photeli bychain o gwrw chwerw fel “Paun Gwirion” a bocs o siocledi i Enwen. Ceisia i ddewis bocs sy’n llawn dop o siocledi blasus fel melysion Twrci, am na fydd hi’n bwyta’r un o’r rheiny, felly, galla i’u llowcio nhw i gyd. Fe fyddwn i’n defnyddio’r ddesg dalu helpu'ch hunan pe gallwn i, ond y tro diwetha nes i ny, naeth y peth ffrwydro. Gorfu i ni i gyd symud mas o’r lle tra oedd y dyn tân yn ymchwilio unwaith to – dyw rhai pethau byth yn newid, ydyn nhw?And then I go for it, after all, a naked boy plays but a hungry one doesn’t. I’ll begin with fruit and veg (mushrooms and chillis in particular), then bread, butter, and milk, then cereal, after that tinned food (not forgetting curry sauce), and sources of protein like tofu, soya products, or mycoprotein foods like “Quorn.” I finish with little bottles of bitter beer like “Mad Peacock” and a box of chocolates for Enwen. I try to choose a box that’s fill of tasty chocs like Turkish Delight, because she won’t eat a single one of those, so I can guzzle them all. I would use the self-service check-out desk if I could, but the last time I did that, the thing exploded. We all had to get out of the place while the fireman was investigating again – some things never change, do they?
Ta p’un i, dewisa i’r ciw byrrach, a gwena i ar y cynorthwywyr gwerthu’r un modd bob tro. Fe fyddan nhw’n gwisgo lifreion cywrain, yn y marn i, ond bydd rhai ohonyn nhw’n ddisgyblion chweched dosbarth sy’n cael plorod, trueiniaid bach. Fi sy biau rysáit a allai helpu gyda ny, o’n i’n gweithio arni pan ddaeth yn oes waith ffurfiol i ben ac wi’n deall tipyn bach am fyfyrwyr hefyd wedi gweithio am fis yn yr ysgol gythreulig na. Fe ddwedon nhw wrtha i i bod hi ar agor ar ddydd Sadwrn, ac wedyn, nes i ruthro i mewn ar ôl noson gyri. O dyna resyn o beth, ond gad dy lap achan, fel na fydd rhagor o drafferth a helynt!Whatever, I choose the shortest queue, and I smile at the sales assistant in the same way every time. They wear fine uniforms, in my opinion, and some of them are sixth-form pupils who’ve got spots, poor things. I’ve got a recipe that could help with that, I was working on it when my formal working life ended, and I understand a bit about students too having worked for a month in that infernal school. They told me it opened on Saturdays and then I rushed in after a curry-night. O there’s a shame, but button your lip, lad, so that there’ll be no more upset and anguish!
Licwn i’m gweithio yno (yn yr archfarchnad wrth bob rheswm) ond eto i gyd so fe’n bosib. Sa i’n ddigon clyfar gyda phobl, yn anffodus. Mae’n well da fi gathod na bodau dynol, sdim ots da fi, ond menyw reit sbesial yw Enwen. Felly, dyna sut wi’n mynd i siopa nawr heb ormod o broblem ac o ganlyniad wi wrth yn modd ac mor llawen â'r gog. Ond ar y llaw arall wi’n drist iawn achos mod i ddim wedi gyrru injan dân to – dim ond troli! Gan bwyll gowboi! Www, neno'r daioni, on’d yw'r amser yn mynd heibio'n gyflym! Falle byddwn ni’n sgwrsio cyn bo hir, mae na lawer o straeon eraill da fi. O gyda llaw, o ddifri, ddim yr un anifail gaeth i nafu wrth helpu gyda’r stori ma. Peidiwch â bod yn ddieithr da chi! Pob hwyl am y tro! Ffred.I wouldn’t like to work there (in the supermarket, to be sure) but then again it’s not possible. I’m not clever enough with people, unfortunately. I prefer cats over people, doesn’t bother me, but Enwen’s a real special woman. So, that’s how I go shopping now without too much of a problem, and as a result I’m delighted and as happy as a sandboy. But on the other hand I’m very sad because I haven’t driven a fire engine yet – only a trolley! Steady on cowboy! Ooooh, Good Heavens, doesn’t time fly! Perhaps we can chat again before long, I’ve got lots of other stories. O by the way, seriously, not a single animal was hurt helping with this story. Don’t be a stranger, will you? Cheers for the mo! Ffed.

Under the Pines

Tall Tales by Fantastic Fred

Under the Pines script

Pennod Pedwar: Dan y Pinwydd / Under the Pines

Henffych well, fy nghymrodyr ar daith ddarganfod bodolaeth! Dyma’r hen Ffed yn traethu unwaith to. Www, wi newydd ddarllen stori gan M Morgan o’r enw “Y Seiffr” yn ei lyfr “Kate Roberts a’r Ystlum (a dirgelion eraill)” (Y Lolfa, 2012). Mae’n ardderchog a llawn rhyfeddodau’ n wir! Nawr te, mae dirgelwch da fi hefyd, credwch neu beidio! Fel y gwyddoch rhai ohonoch chi, mae capel lleia’r byd yng Nghwm-ran ar bwys lle wi’n dod yn wreiddiol, o’r enw Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig. Maen nhw’n chwedleua i’r hen Lleu aros yma wedi’i frifo’n wael yn yr hen amser gynt. Wel, dyma newyddion cyffrous; fe wnaethon nhw ddarganfod llawysgrifau hynafol mewn jariau gwin af ffurf llestri pridd, ryw ddeunaw mlynedd yn ôl. Ar droad y ganrif, a throad y milflwyddiant ar ben hynny, ar ddechrau Oes y Dyfrwr yn ôl y nghyfrifon i. Beth oedd y fath bethau’n neud mewn capel dwn i’m (y jariau win, ch’mod — mae capeli’n llawn o ddogfennau annealladwy wrth gwrs).

Salutations, my comrades on existence’s journey of discovery! Here’s old Ffred holding forth once again. Oooh, I’ve just read a story by M Morgan called “The Cypher” in his book “Kate Roberts a’r Ystlum (a dirgelion eraill)” (Y Lolfa, 2012). It’s excellent and full of wonders indeed! Now then, I have a mystery too, believe it or not! As some of you will know, the smallest chapel in the world’s in Cwm-ran near where I come from originally. They spin the tale that old Lleu stayed there, terribly injured in days of yore. Well, here’s the exciting news: they discovered ancient manuscripts in earthenware wine-jars, about eighteen years ago. At the turn of the century, and turn of the millennium to boot, at the beginning of the Age of Aquarius according to my calculations. What such things were doing in a chapel I don’t know (the wine-jars, you know — chapels are full of incomprehensible documents of course).

Tyb pawb eraill oedd eu bod nhw’n ddynwarediad modern gan chwaraewyr casetiau. Doedd neb yn gallu’u darllen nhw. Mae’r llawysgrifen yn wael, fel sgriblan morgrug sy di bwyta asid (ond nage asid fformig, maen nhw’n llawn o hwnnw), ac mae’r holl beth yn edrych fel creon ar bapur menyn, llawn lluniau bach, symbolau o liw gwaed, a sgrifen o chwith, siŵr o fod. Wi di bod wrthi hi’n dysgu am bethau fel gwyddorau ac arwyddluniau, ac ieithoedd marw fel Mesmes o Ethiopia, a Nyawaygi o Awstralia, a Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe o Frasil. Wi di bod yn breuddwydio am gyfieithu rhywbeth o bwys, ond “nid datod cwlwm yw ei dorri” meddan nhw, beth bynnag mae hynny’n ei olygu. Felly yn hytrach na gweithio ar y llawysgrifau’u hunain, wi di bod yn aros am ysbrydoliaeth sydyn, ac wi o fewn ychydig i lwyddo. Hei, dyna ddysgu gydol oes i chi, on’d ife? Ond digon am yn hobïau i, dyma fraslun o’r gwaith mawr hyd yn hyn. Wi’n meddwl am “Dan y Pinwydd” fel y teitl, achos taw “Wil Kineythien aí” oedd e’n wreiddiol, sy’n golygu’r un peth…

Everybody else’s opinion was that they were modern counterfeits by pranksters. No-one could read them. The handwriting’s awful, like the scribbling of ants that have eaten acid (but not formic acid, they’re full of that), and the whole thing looks like crayon on grease-proof paper, full of little pictures, blood-coloured symbols, and mirror-writing, probably. I’ve gone at it to learn about things like alphabets and hieroglyphs, and dead languages like Mesmes from Ethiopia, and Nyawaygi from Australia, and Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe from Brazil. I’ve been dreaming about translating something important, but “you don’t undo a knot by cutting it” as they say, whatever that means. So rather than working on the manuscripts themselves, I’ve been waiting for a flash of inspiration, and I’m near as damn it to succeeding. Hey that’s lifelong learning for you, isn’t it? But enough about my hobbies, here’s a sketch of the great work up to now. I’m thinking of “Under the Pines” as the title, because it was “Wil Kineythien aí” originally, which means the same thing…

F'annwylaf Mêts! Fe fyddwn i’n fodlon ond i chi dreulio’r mymryn lleiaf o amser yn ‘y nghwmni i. Dim ond awr ro’n i’n gofyn i chi i’w threulio gyda fi. Ond ar ‘y mhen ‘yn hunan ydw i, yn sgwrsio â gwyntoedd cyfnewidiad, creulon a main, wrth i fi sgriblan yr epistol ‘ma ar frys. Felly ai llythyr neu ymson yw hyn? Dyw hi ddim o bwys. Mae’n teimlo fel rwy eisoes yma ers pedwar deg dydd a deugain noson. Rwy mor sychedig, ac yn ystyried difetha ‘y mywyd drwy neidio oddi ar y mynydd.My dearest Mates! I’d be content if only you passed the least bit of time in my company. Only an hour I asked you to spend with me. But I’m on my own, talking with the winds of change, cruel and biting, whilst I hurriedly scribble this epistle. So, is it a letter or a monologue? It’s not important. It feels like I’ve already been here for forty days and forty nights. I’m so thirsty, and considering ending my life by jumping off the mountain.
Fe fedrwn i fod yn geiliog yn clochdar ar yr haul, 'tae waeth am ‘ny, fyddwn i’m yn eich effro chi. Felly, bydda i’n hala’r neges ‘ma i’r gymrodoriaeth yn bell oddi yma yng Nghwm-ran, lle taw pawb yn y gymuned sydd â breintiau a chyfrifoldebau cyfartal. Mae ‘da fi gymrawd yno, Mair-Elen ydy’i henw hi, a dylai’r sgrôl ‘ma fod yn ddiogel, er taw tipyn bach o gwlt meudwyaidd ydy’r rhain, sy’n eithriadol o dduwiol. I could be a cock crowing at the sun, for that matter, I wouldn’t wake you. So, I’ll send this message to the commune far away from here, in Cwm-ran, where everyone in the commune has rights and corresponding privileges. I have a comrade there, Mary-Ellen’s her name, and this scroll should be safe, although that lot, who’re exceptionally devout, are a bit of a secretive cult.
Gyda llaw, byddwch â llygad ar eich ysgwydd am ŵr o'r llysenw 'Cythraul Grymus'. Dydych chi’m yn ei nabod e erbyn hyn, ond ges i hyd iddo fe ar daith hir, pan ‘naeth e gwympo oddi ar ei feic modur, a dyrnu ei ben yn erbyn y creigiau. Dyna lanc galluog iawn. Mae’n llawn i’r ymyl â syniadau chwyldroadol, ac rwy’n credu bydd yn helpu chi i roddi’r gair mas. Gobeithio na fydd hwnnw ddim yn fwy na llond ei Doc Martens yn y dyfodol. Amser a ddengys. By the way, keep your eyes skinned for a bloke nicknamed 'Balrog'. You don’t know him now, but I found him on a long journey, when he fell off his motorbike, and hit his head on the rocks. There’s a really gifted lad. He’s stuffed full of revolutionary ideas, and I believe he’ll help you to spread the word. I do hope he won’t be too big for his Doc Martens in the future. Time will tell.
Mewn gwirionedd, rwy wedi blino’n lân. Wedi’r cwbl, rhwng yr holl deithio, a’r siarad cyhoeddus, dwi ‘di bod yn gweithio fel yr Andros. Rhaid i fi gael uffern o noson dda o orffwys. Roedd difyrru’r miloedd mor anodd â thynnu gwaed o garreg heb sôn am y trefi lle ro’n nhw eisiau i ni roi cwrw a fodca iddyn nhw yn lle poteli o ddŵr. ‘Rarglwydd! Man a man a mynci melyn i fi fwydo'r miloedd o bobl ar yr ŵyl rydd y penwythnos 'na. Ecstasi ro'n nhw'i eisiau, ond yn well ha hynny, miwsig gorawenus a dawnsio gwyllt a gaethon nhw drwy gydol y nos! Nage trechaf yw treisied; dim ond hyn ro’n i eisiau ei ddweud; ac y dylen nhw rannu’r cariad yn deg, hefyd, er mwyn ‘neud y ddaear gron yn fan well i fyw ynddi. In truth, I’m knackered. After all, what with all the travelling, and the public speaking, I’ve been working like the Devil. I have to get one hell of a good night’s rest. Entertaining the masses was as hard as getting blood from a stone not to mention the towns where they wanted us to give them beer and vodka instead of bottles of water. Good Lord! I might as well have fed the thousands of people at the free festival that weekend. Ecstasy they wanted, but better than that, bangin' music and mental dancing was what they got, all night long! Might isn’t right, that’s all I wanted to say; and that they should share the love freely, too, to make the whole world a better place to live in.
Ar y llaw arall, mewn mannau eraill, ro’n nhw’n llyncu ‘y ngeiriau. Serch ‘ny, dwi’m yn gallu deall pam bues i’n gorfod mynd i mewn i’r ddinas ar gefn ceffyl gwyn (f (fel petai, fan wen yn llawn o offer sain a goleuo oedd hi, reit?), wrth iddyn nhw daflu canghennau coed pinwydd ar yr heol o ‘mlaen i. Pe celwn i fantell borffor, a choron, a theyrnwialen, byddwn wedi ymddangos yn ymherodr, yn frenin neu artist rap rhwysgfawr, neu focsiwr yn dod i mewn i'r ring. Ond allwn i'm peidio meddwl taw wrth i rhai ohonyn nhw ysgubo'r fordd, rhai eraill oedd yn paratoi coelcerth angladdol fel nâi'r Cenhedloedd Duon. Ac wedyn, roedd y trefnwyr fysslyd i gyd yn pydru arni, gan dreio'n mwytho i, gan 'molchi i a'n sychu i â lliain, ac wedyn oelio 'nghorff i cyn chwistrellu afftyrsief drewllyd ym mhobman. Ro'n i'n dychmygu'r hen ddydiau yn yr Anialdir Coch neu rywbeth. Roedd fel 'swn i ‘di marw, a bydden nhw’n ‘mharatoi i cyn i fi gael ‘y nghladdu. A dyna oedd pawb yn gweiddi “Ti yw'r gorau! Ein harwr! Duw wyt ti" pan ddes i mas ar y llwyfan cyn dechrau perfformio. Dyn ni i gyd yn feibion i fenywod, a merched i ddynion, pob un ohonyn nhw sydd yr un mor deilwng, on’d ife? Felly dyn a ŵyr beth ro’n nhw’n feddwl.On the other hand, in other places, they hung on my every word. Despite that, I can’t understand why I had to go into the city on the back of a white horse (as it were, it was a white van full of sound and lighting equipment, right?), while they threw pine branches on the street in front of me. If I’d had a purple cloak, and a crown, and a sceptre, I would have looked like an emperor, a king or a pompous rap artist, or a boxer entering the ring. But I couldn't help thinking that while some of them were sweeping the way, others were preparing a funeral pyre like the Vikings used to. And then, all the fussy organisers were beavering about, trying to pamper me, washing me down and drying me off, and oiling up my body, before spraying stinky aftershave everywhere. I was imagining the old days in the Red Desert or something. It was as if I’d died, and they were preparing me before I was buried. And there was everyone shouting out“You're the best! Our hero! You're a god!" when I came out in the stage before starting to perform. We’re all sons of women, and daughters of men, every one of who’s just as deserving, aren’t they? So goodness knows what they meant.
Beth oedd yn bod? Rhyw arfer hynafol, siŵr o fod. Dylwn i fod wedi ‘neud sylw eiriau’r athrawon yn yr ysgol, ond hyd yn oed pan o’n i’n grwt neis-neis, rai blynyddoedd yn ôl, fe wn i’r Hen Lenyddiaeth yn well na nhw. ‘Nawn i byth wrando! Sut bynnag, nage tywysog y byd ‘ma ydw i’n bendant. Cwrddais i â phwysigyn seimlyd a arddelai’r anrhydedd hwnnw pan fues ar encil yn y diffeithdir. Creadur sy’n gyfan gwbl wahanol i unrhyw ddyn ydoedd, neidr gudd go iawn, ‘sdim dwywaith ynghylch ‘ny. Fe sebonodd fi ar ffurf offeiriad coch, gyda gweniaith y saith swynwr seraffaidd o’r llên gêl, ond yn ofer, a ‘nes i wrthsefyll gyda chymorth y delw-addolwyr dioglyd, a ddaeth i i roi help llaw i fi yn amser ‘y nhrallod. Gwell yr ellyll a wyddys na’r cythreuliaid nad adweinir, falle.What was the problem? Some ancient custom, probably I should’ve taken notice of the teachers' words in school, but even when I was a finicky kid, some years back, I knew the Ancient Literature better than them. I’d never listen! Anyhow, I’m definitely not prince of this world. I met some slimy bigwig who claimed that honour when I was on retreat in the desert. He was a creature totally different from any human being, a real snake in the grass, no two ways about it. He soft-soaped me in the form of a red priest, with the blandishments of the seven seraphic sorcerers of the hidden lore, but in vain, and I resisted with the help of the indolent idolaters, who came to my aid in my hour of need. Better the devil you know than the demons you don’t recognise, perhaps.
A dyma ni i gyd, ar yr ystad ar droed Mynydd y Pinwydd, lle mae’r teirw dur yn huno dros nos. Ysgafnu’r baich yw ei rannu, yn wir, ond mae’n beth enbyd, on’d ydy, pan na fydd hyd yn oed ffrindiau gorau boi’n gallu cadw’n effro wrth iddo geisio datrys problemau’r byd. O leia’r peiriannau fyddai’n cadw sŵn dim ond ‘sen nhw’n gweithio. Chi sy’n rhochian fel moch wrth gysgu! Deirgwaith rwy wedi cerdded heibio i chi, y llanciau cefn gwlad hir eich cwsg, ond atebodd neb ddim gair. Mwya’r gresyn nad o’ch chi yma, ro’n i wedi gobeithio am well, ond tra ydy’r enaid yn fodlon, mae’r cnawd yn wael.And here we all are, on the estate at the foot of the Pine Mountain, where the bulldozers are sleeping overnight. A burden shared is a burden halved, to be true, but it’s an awful thing, isn’t it, when even a boy’s best friends can’t stay awake while he tries to solve the world’s problems. At least the machines would only be making a din if they were working. You lot are snorting like pigs while you sleep! Three times I’ve walked by you, you sleeping-beauty country lads, but no-one answered a word. A great pity that you weren’t here, I’d hoped for better, but while the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak.
Rwy ‘di bod yn meddwl tybed beth i’w wneud nesaf, ac wedi dod i benderfyniad erbyn hyn. Ddim heddychwr di-asgwrn-cefn ydw i, y nefoedd wen, ond alla i’m cefnogi trais gwaedlyd chwaith. Gweddus a phleserus yw trengi tros eich mamwlad, ebe rhywun, rywbryd, ond dwi’n meddwl bod pentwr o hen sothach yw hyn. Rwy’n mynd i gwrdd â’r awdurdodau yn hwyrach heno, a gobeithio nad taflu ‘y ngemau o flaen y moch a wna i. Na ddeffro’r ci sy’n cysgu, reit? Ond, gadwech i ni weld beth fydd yn digwydd. Mae’n well ‘da fi hynny na gorfod dadlau gyda’r gormeswyr, yr hen foch budr! Mae 'yn ffrind bore oes wedi trefnu popeth, ac mae’n falch ar y diawl ei hun. Fel ‘y nghysgod i ydy a dweud y gwir, ond mae’n lico chwarae rhan yr ysbïwr, ac fe ‘naiff unrhyw beth i roi’i llaw ar fudrelw. Dylai fe fod yma cyn hir.I’ve been thinking what to do next, and I’ve come to a decision now. I’m no spineless pacifist, heavens above, but I can’t support bloody violence either. It’s right and fitting to die for your homeland, someone said, sometime, but I think that that’s a pile of old rubbish. I’m going to meet the authorities later tonight, and I hope I shan’t be casting my pearls before swine. Don’t wake a sleeping dog, right? But, let’s see what happens. I’d prefer that that having to debate with the oppressors, the dirty old swine! My lifelong buddy has arranged everything, and he’s pleased as Punch himself. He’s like my shadow, to tell the truth, but he likes to play the spy, and he’ll do anything to get his hands on filthy lucre. He should be here before long.
Ac eto i gyd, fe ddaw’r gofid pennaf pan wy’n gofyn i’m hun: ydw i’n wrthryfelgar heb glem, wedi’r cyfan? Ni dda gen i ‘mo’r crefyddau cyfundrefnol, na’n hun ni, na’r rhai sy’n perthyn i’r bobl ddieithr. Allwn i’m rhwystro ‘yn hun rhag rhoi cyfrif da ohono ‘yn hunan pan ‘naethon nhw ddechrau gwerthu yn Nheml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig fel petai’n ddim mwy na'r farchnadfa yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg. (Ac yno mae ystrywiau’r swynwyr yn hud-ddenu meddwl y boblogaeth gyda bara a chwaraeon, fel y maen nhw’n dilyn y llwybr briallog i’r Fall.) Fe’u gorfodwyd i godi weiren bigog er mwyn ‘y nghadw oddi ar y to, gan esgus iddyn nhw ddymuno dychryn y brain pygddu ymaith. O sut byddai’r waliau’n wylo pe gwyddent beth oedd yn digwydd. And then again, the chief trouble comes when I ask myself: am I a rebel without a clue, after all? I don’t care for organised religions, neither our own, nor those that belong to foreigners. I couldn’t stop myself from giving a good account of myself when they started selling bric-a-brac in the Temple of the Hidden Glory as if it were no more than than the marketplace in the Big, Bad City. (And there the sorcerers’ whiles beguile the mind of the populace with bread and circuses, so that they follow the primrose path to Perdition.) They were forced to put up barbed wire to keep me off the roof, pretending they wanted to scare off the ravens. Oh, how would the walls wail if they knew what was happening.
Edrychwch, dyma ‘y ngolwg ar y byd, yn blwmp ac yn blaen. Mae’r Dysgeidiaethau’n dweud taw duwiau ydych chi i gyd. Sut felly? Rhaid i chi gadarnhau taw cariad yw Ffynhonnell Popeth. A beth, wedyn, yw cariad? Ddim rhyw endid haniaethol, na chysgod wedi’i ddyfeisio gan yr athronwyr o Roeg ‘mo fe. Yn hytrach, cyflwr meddwl ydy, pan fyddwch yn barod i roi’ch bywyd er mwyn bodau eraill gyda’r parodrwydd mwyaf. Ar y Ddaear daw teyrnas cariad, y Nw Yrth hwn, yn gynt nag y dychmygwch. Look, here’s my view of the world, straight up. The Teachings say that you lot are all Gods. How so? You have to stress that love is the Source of Everything. And what, then, is love? It’s not some abstract entity, nor a phantom made up by the Greek philosophers. Rather, it’s a state of mind, when you are prepared to give your life for the sake of other beings, with the greatest of readiness. On the Earth shall come the kingdom of love, this Nw Yrth, sooner that you imagine.
Nage breuddwyd ryw hen hipi ‘mo fe ‘mo fe, na gwlad byth bythoedd, na lle gwacsaw, na gwlad hud a lledrith. Mae’n fangre sy’n cynnig realiti yn y fan a’r lle, ac sy’n ein rhyddhau ni o ddelweddau chwant a’n haflonyddai ni fel arall mewn tir diffaith dyfodol heb obaith. Bydd cyrraedd yno’n dalcen caled a alwa am hunanddisgyblaeth a phenderfyniad. Fi sy’n dangos y ffordd; fi sy’n agor y borth; ond sa i’n gallu gorfodi pobl i fynd drwyddo. Dim ond eisiau dangos i chi sut i rannu’r cariad dw i. Dyna sut rydyn ni’n mynd yn nes at y Ffynhonnell, ac at ein gilydd, wel yn ‘y nhyb i, petawn i’n marw, â’m llaw ar ‘y nghalon.It’s not the dream of some old hippy, nor a never-never land, nor a trifling place, nor a land of enchantment. It’s a location that offers reality right then and there, and which frees us from the images of want that would vex us in a hopeless future wasteland. It’ll be hard work getting there, which calls for self-discipline and determination. It’s me who shows the way, I who open the gate, but I can’t force people to go through. I only want to show you how to share the love. That's how we get closer to the Source, and to each other, well, in my opinion, upon my word, and hand on heart.
A phawb sy'n caru yn gallu dod i mewn. A byddwn nhw’n ‘neud hyn drwy gerdded yn ôl ‘y nhraed i, ymdrechu ymdrech deg, a siarad â’u calonnau dan glywed hefyd. Felly, na farnwch fel y rhai sy wedi'u hanafu'n wael, sy’n cynnig dim ond afal derw a finegr i’w hyfed, a pheidiwch dadansoddi pethau ormod. Carwch, carwch o waelod eich calon, achos bod cariad bob amser yn amddiffyn, wastad yn credu, o hyd yn gobeithio, bob adeg yn dal ati. Pan ddaw’r deyrnas, bydd bustl y moroedd yn corddi, a hollta cnawd y ddaear, a’r lien sy’n ein cuddio ni rhag cyfrinachau'r Deml a rwygir i lawr. And everyone who loves can come in. And they’ll do this by following in my footsteps, fighting the good fight, and talking to their hearts whilst listening too. So, don’t judge like those who've been badly damaged, who offer only gall and vinegar to drink, and don’t over-analyse things. Love, love from the bottom of your hearts, because love always protects, always believes, always hopes, always keeps going. When the kingdom comes, the seas’ bile shall boil, and the earth’s flesh shall rend, and the veil that hides us from the secrets of the Temple shall be rent asunder.
Yn wir, ges i flas ar y ddiod neithiwr, yn y parti uwchben y dafarn. Roedd arna i angen boddi ‘yn – ansicrwydd – er ‘mod i’n ymbil ar rywun i fynd â’r ddysgl oddi wrtha i. Dwi ‘di bod yn cael gweledigaethau ers ‘ny, ac yffach cols, ma’ hi’n gwasgu arna i, os wy’n onest. Ma’n dwym yma, dwi’n chwysu’n stecs, ac ma’ ‘ngwaed i’n berwi. Bron ag wylo dagrau o waed dw i. Oni bai am yr hunanamheuaeth, ac arswyd canlyniadau anhysbys, fe allwn i egluro i chi sut i ‘neud yr aberth penodol. ‘Swn i ond yn gallu sefyll yn ‘yn rhych! Truly, I had a skinful last night, in the party above the pub. I needed to drown my – insecurity – although I was begging someone to take the cup away from me. I’ve been having visions since then, and hellfire, it’s pressing down on me, if I’m honest. It’s warm here, I’m sweating buckets, and my blood’s boiling. I’m almost crying tears of blood. If it wasn’t for the self-doubt, and the fear of unknown consequences, I would explain to you how to make the appropriate sacrifice. If only I could stand my ground!
Rhaid i fi fynd nawr. Wi’n meddwl ‘mod i’n clywed aelodau’r Pwyllgor yn dynesu. Falle bydda i bant am gryn amser i ddod, ond cofiwch chi: ble bynnag yr ewch, yno y bydda i, yn eich llygadu chi â llygaid treiddgar cigfran reibus. Ac o ganlyniad i hyn, bydda i wastad yn eich meddyliau a’ch cofion. Afraid dweud hyn: fe fydda i ‘nôl, wi’n addo ar ‘y mheth mawr! I have to go now. I think I hear the members of the Committee approaching. Perhaps I’ll be away for quite some time to come, but you lot remember: wherever you go, there I’ll be, staring down on you with the piercing eyes of a ravenous raven. And as a result of this, I’ll always be in your minds and your memories. No need to say this: I’ll be back, I promise with all my might!
Ond ma’ arna i ofn erchyll. Pam ma’ heddlu yma? Wi’n teimlo’n sâl ac yn dychryn am ‘yn hoedl. Ma’ ‘ngwaed i wedi mynd i rewi nawr, wi’n digalonni, a ‘sdim ysbryd yno i mwyach. Dymuna i taw rhyw lu arallfydol ddôi i ‘nghipio i oddi ar safnau angau a mynd â fi i ddiogelwch, ond nid dyna sut ma’ pethau’n gweithio i lawr fan hyn, gwaetha’r modd. Rhywun a rô nerth i fi ‘neud y cwbl sy eisiau. O Dad, fy Nhad, ble rwyt ti? Wel, mae'r pen-bandit yma o'r diwedda, diolch byth —But I’m terribly frightened. Why are there police here? I feel sick and I’m terrified for my life. My blood’s frozen now, I’m losing heart, there’s no spirit in my any more. I want some otherworldly host to snatch me from death’s jaws and take me to safety, but that’s not how things work down here, more’s the pity. Someone give me strength to do all that’s needed. O Dad, my Dad, where are you? Well, the big chief's here at last, thank goodness —

Wel dyna’r gorau alla i neud y funud ma, ond trist dweud falle taw mwy na thebyg ffugiad yw’r peth wedi’r cwbl, wedi’i neud gan y bachgen trwblus hwn o’r Clinig lan y bryn a fu farw tua’r amser gaeth y jariau’u darganfod. Ch’wel, ‘Daa·hweeth Oh·fé’ oedd yr enw ar gefn y tudalennau, hyd y gwn i. Hynny yw, ‘David Baxter’ o ‘daa’ (‘gwastad’), ‘hweeth’ (‘annwyl’), ‘ofhs’ (‘toes’), a ‘fé’ (‘tân’). Dyna’r llanc a oedd yn arfer cymryd arno fe taw sowldiwr o Galon y Cyfandir oedd e, ac a achosai gymaint o broblemau! Wastad yn cymryd sylweddau meddwol, a dreifo’n danjerus, a rhoi popeth ar dân. A’r chwilod dieflig ym mhobman, ‘Resgob, w! Chep-er, chep-er, chep-er! Digon i yrru dyn o’i go! Ro’n nhw’n greaduriaid arallfydol o blaned hollol wahanol, fe ddywedai.

Well that’s the best I could do right now, but sad to say that more than likely the things a forgery, after all, made by that troubled boy from the Clinic up the hill who died about the time the jars were discovered. You see, ‘Daa·hweeth Oh·fé’ was the name on the back of the pages, as far as I know. That is, ‘David Baxter’ from ‘daa’ (‘constant’), ‘hweeth’ (‘beloved’), ‘ofhs’ (‘dough’), a ‘fé’ (‘fire’). That’s the lad who always used to pretend he was a soldier from the Heart of the Continent, and who caused so many problems! Always taking intoxicating substances, and driving dangerously, and setting things on fire. And the bloody beetles everywhere, Lordy, mun! Chep-er, chep-er, chep-er! Enough to drive a man mental! They were extra-terrestrial creatures from a totally different planet he said.

Ac wedyn roedd y torri i mewn i bobman, a’r rafio ym mherfeddion y nos (dawnsio a chyffuriau heb os), a’r neud difrod maleisus yn Neuadd y Delweddau gyda’i ffrind a dynniff gartwnau ffug-wydd (Steff neu rywbeth oedd ei enw? Dyn od rywsut na’i gilydd, ta be, ond sa i’n gallu gosod y mys ar y dolur o ran be sy’n bod arno fe). Ond llanc mor garedig oedd e, sdim dwywaith amdani. Fe fyddai’n helpu chi bob amser heb raid gofyn Pŵr dab ag e, ar ôl popeth roedd e wedi mynd drwyddo! Er gwaetha’r cam-drin roedd e fel rhyw hen hipi, llawn heddwch a chariad eto. Rhedeg bant a wnaeth e, am rai dyddiau, jyst cyn y, y tân. Rhyw brosiect rhiniol, meddai fe. Hud a lledrith, “i adael ei ôl ar y dyfodol.” Fe fyddai wedi bod yn dad digon da, sai fe wedi ymdawelu dipyn.

Elfan Baldrog Bacster. Dyna’r enw rhyfedd ar y mab sy’n dod i oed bellach., ond dyna ffordd y byd i chi. Mae’n eithriadol gryf ond yn tueddu i fod yn anniben chreulon ‘fyd hyd y gwela i. Mae di bod yn mynnu cydnabyddiaeth ac yn barod i gymryd y lle drosodd nawr bod ei Mam wedi mynd bant i weithio’n rhywle arall. Fe a gweddill y Bobol Sed. Ac mae’r Steff ‘na, y “Tywysydd Medrus” neu beth bynnag yw’i deitl twp, yn ddylanwad drwg ofnadw i ‘nhyb i. Mae’n neud i chi feddwl, on’d ydy, sbo. Dw i’n synnu dyw’r hen Dai Procter yn neud dim byd i gadw’r ffrwyn arnyn nhw. Ond eto i gyd, mae popeth wedi mynd i’r cŵn i’r fath raddau bellach. Dim jôc yna, dw i’m yn gor-ddweud, ond mae’n teimlo fel petai’r Byd yn rhuthro ar ei ben tuag at ddinistr yn y Pwll Diwaelod, rhwng yr holl gimerâu’n ymddangos ym mhob man wrth i bobl newid a mynd yn fwystfilod. Falle taw angen Cynghrair yr Uwch-Arwyr sydd arnon ni wedi’r cwbl, i gadw trefn ar bethau, ond mae’n ymddangos bod nhw ishe’n hysgubo ni’r werin ddilychwin ymaith o’u blaen nhw.

O na bai’n arwr Mor·dwnom Ddewin, Mawdryn Ddifarw, Mulrin, môr-leidr ar y môr cysefin, Nulolana, meistr y geiriau glân, yma i’n helpu ni! Ond ni ddaw e byth i roi’r Byd ar dân, ac felly fi fydd yn gorfod dihuno nerth y Blaned gwsg. Ond wedi dweud ‘ny, ‘dwn i’m beth i’w neud na sut i lithro o dan radar y rhifolegwyr, y meddyliaethyddion, yr offeiriaid, y sêr-ddewiniaid, yr alcemyddion, y chwilyswyr, a’r dehonglwyr yn perthyn i’r Sefydliadau Crefyddol ar y naill ochr, a lluoedd anataliadwy Milisia’r Bobl Wlatgar ar y llall, chwith. Hmm. Iawn, dyna ni te, wi’n eitha di-hwyl nawr. Dw i’n methu cael gwared ar y geiriau od ‘na o ‘mhen i – “Shezesista-duí sivuva-bu, soraka-gohé klilté-dí krinsa-zuhí hílé, elaté-dolé elí-ruí izné-mí” – “Anadl y sarff, swyn bywyd a thranc, d’argoel wneuthur” – ond dw i’m yn deall be i neud gyda nhw, er eu bod yn bwysig iawn, heb os, fel y mae swynion yn yr Hen Hen Yrtheg bob amser. Wi’n teimlo bod rhaid i fi’u hadrodd nhw drosodd a throsodd drwy’r amser.

Ond maen nhw’n dal i newid, fel bod nhw’n dawnsio yn ‘mhen i, o’r braidd fe alla i ymdopi, a bellach mae’n swnio fel: “Sesihā sifufa i, sorahā lithe i thie rira lirī, elū lu a rinae i.” Be ar y Ddaear yw’r ystyr dw i’m yn gallu cael hyd iddo? Dyn a ŵyr i sicrwydd? Ond mae’n rhywbeth i’w neud â rheoli grymoedd natur, uno gwrthgyferbyniadau, creu Dvaldí a Hlevné newydd (neu Thoahatha a Lehenefa, falle), a defnyddio elfennau fel metel a dŵr i agor porth i Fydoedd Eraill, gan berffeithio’r rhyngwynebu rhwng cnawd a phlastig, rhwng silicon a dur gwrthstaen, wrth wahanu ysbryd oddi wrth sylwedd, hollti amser oddi wrth ofod, a thorri achos ac effaith, be bynnag yw ystyr hynny. Wedyn fe fydd Chwaer Lygaid Cadno a’r angylion plwm di-ben yn disgyn drwy’r twll cwningen rhyngalaethog i fwydo arnon ni, ond mab y forwyn fydd yn ein hachub ni gan ddinistrio’r Hen Drefn ar yr un pryd. Ww, diar, diar, dw i’m yn deall be ddylwn i neud o gwbl. Mae’n codi pwys arna i. Pam fi? Dim ond trio neud ‘ngorau glas dw i, gan helpu Dai Procter a chadw ‘mhen i lawr. Rhaid i fi fynd i orffwys mewn stafell dywyll am y pnawn nawr te, a disgwyl gorchmynion oddi uchod fel petai. Wela i chi cyn hir, gobeithio, wel, o leia falle bydda i’n cyfathrebu gyda chi rywsut neu’i gilydd, a bod y Pwerau Dychrynllyd yn caniatáu! Ffred.

And then there was the breaking in everywhere, and the raving in the dead of night (dancing and drugs no doubt), and the malicious damage in the Hall of the Images with his friend who draws sci-fi cartoons (Steff or something was his name? Odd man somehow, anyway, but I can’t put my finger on what his problem is). But he was such a kind lad, no two ways about it. He would always help you without having to ask. Poor dab, after everything he’d been through! Despite the mistreatment he was like some old hippy, still full of peace and love. Ran off for a few days he did, just before the, the fire. Some mysterious project he said. Hocus-pocus, “leaving his mark on the future.” He would’ve been a good enough dad, if he’d calmed down a bit. Elfan Baldrog Bacster.

That’s the strange name of the son who’s coming of age now, but that’s the way of the world for you. He’s exceptionally strong but tends to be sloppy and cruel too as far as I can see. He’s been asserting himself and is ready to take the place over now his Mam’s gone off to work elsewhere. Him and the rest of the Z-People. And that Steff, the “Skilled Leader” or whatever his stupid title is, is a terribly bad influence in my view. It makes you think, doesn’t it, I s’pose. I’m surprised the old Dai Procter doesn’t keep them in check. But then again, everything’s gone to the dogs to such an extent now. No joke there, I’m not exaggerating, but it feels as if the World’s rushing headlong towards complete destruction in the Bottomless Pit, what with all the chimeras appearing everywhere as people change and turn bestial. Perhaps we do need the League of Superheroes after all, to keep things in order, but it looks like they want to sweep us, the untarnished folk, away before them.

If only my hero Mor·dwnom the Wizard, Undead Mawdryn, Mulrin, pirate on the primal ocean, Nulolana, master of the sacred words, were here to help us! But he’ll never come to set the World on fire, and so it’s me who’ll have to wake the power of the sleeping Planet. But having said that, I don’t know what to do, nor how to slip under the radar of the numerologists, the mentalists, the priests, the astrologers, the inquisitors, and the decipherers belonging to the Religious Institutions on the one side, and the irrepressible hordes of the Patriotic People’s Militia on the other, either. Hmm. Right, there we are then, I’m rather upset now. Can’t get those strange words out of me bonce: “Shezesista-duí sivuva-bu, soraka-gohé klilté-dí krinsa-zuhí hílé, elaté-dolé elí-ruí izné-mí” – “Serpent’s breath, charm of death and life, thy omen of making” – but I don’t understand what to do with them, although they’re very important, without a doubt, as spells in Ancient Yrthian always are. I feel like I must keep on saying them over and over all the time.

They keep on changing, like they’re dancing about in my head, I can hardly cope, and now it sounds like: “Sesihā sifufa i, sorahā lithe i thie rira lirī, elū lu a rinae i.” What on Earth’s the meaning I can’t find out? Who knows for sure? But it’s something to do with controlling the forces of nature, uniting opposites, creating a new Dvaldí and Hlevné (or Thoahatha and Lehenefa, perhaps), and using elements like metal and water to open a gate to Other Worlds, perfecting the interface between flesh and plastic, silicon and stainless steel, whilst sundering spirit and substance, splitting time from space, and breaking cause and effect, whatever that means. Then Sister Fox-Eyes and the acephalic leaden angels shall descend through the inter-galactic rabbit hole to feed upon us, but the maiden’s son shall save us, destroying the Old Order at the same time. Ooh, dear me, I don’t know what I should do at all. It makes me want to puke. Why me? I’m only trying to do my very best, helping Dai Procter out and keeping me head down. I’ve got to go to lie down in a dark room for the afternoon now then and await orders from above as it were. See you before long, I hope, well, at least maybe I can communicate with you somehow or other, the Terrible Powers permitting! Ffred.

Strange landscape

Pennod Pump: Urddo (Lleisiau 1) / Initiation (Voices 1)

Y mae Theori Gemau’n sôn am ‘Cysgod Hir y Dyfodol,’ sydd yn enw ar y ffaith y bydd pobl yn cydweithio os ydynt yn coelio y cânt naill ai wobr neu gosb, ryw ddydd a ddaw, o ganlyniad i sut yr ymddwynant yn rheolaidd yn y cyfamser. Gall hyn fod yn dda iawn mewn llawer o sefyllfaoedd yn y byd go iawn. Ond mewn cyferbyniad, dychmygwch eich bod newydd dderbyn y newyddion eich bod i farw yn y dyfodol agos. Yn ddiau y deuech o hyd i lawer ffordd o foddio pob chwant o’r eiddoch cyn ichi ddiosg y corff priddlyd, ac i gythraul â gweddill y byd. Hynny yw, fe dueddwch i fentro ar wneud pethau sy’n risg uchel, ond yn golled uchel ar yr un pryd. Ac yn gyffredinol dim ond ychydig o’r fath ymddygiad a bery ichi drengi hyd yn oed yn gynharach nag y dylech. Felly cleddyf daufiniog yw’r Cysgod hwn. Mae’n dda, ac eithrio pan yw’n ddrwg.

Game Theory talks about the ‘Long Shadow of the Future,’ which is a name for the fact that people cooperate if they believe they will receive either a reward or a penalty, at some point in the future, as a result of how they regularly behave in the meantime. This can be very good in many situations in the real world. But counter to this, imagine you have just received the news that you are to die in the near future. Doubtless you could find many ways of satisfying every one of your desires before you put off the mortal flesh, and to hell with the rest of the world. That is, you would tend to take a chance on doing things that are high-risk, but high-loss at the same time. And in general only a little such behaviour causes you to perish even earlier than you should. Thus this Shadow is a two-edged sword. It is good, except when it is bad.

Glasiad dydd ydoedd, fore Iau'r ail ar hugain o Fehefin 1967 hynny yw Canol Haf (er nad dygwyl y Merthyron Colledig), yn ystod Haf Cariad, ac fe ddigwyddai ‘lleuad fefus’ y noson honno hefyd (fel y dywed brodorion cysefin cyfandir Gogledd America yn eu hieithoedd amryfal eu hunain). A dyna oeddwn yn laslanc wedi’i amddifadu, na charasai lawer o gwbl, yn Nheml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig i gael fy holi gan Aelodau Llawn Urdd Cyfrinachau, fel petawn yn sefyll arholiad.It was daybreak, Thursday morning the twenty-second of June 1967 that is Midsummer Day (although not the Feast of the Lost Martyrs), during the Summer of Love, and a ‘strawberry moon’ would occur that night too (as the native inhabitants of the continent of North America say in their own various languages). And there I was, an orphaned youth, who had not done much loving at all, in the Temple of the Hidden Glory to be examined by the Full Members of the Guild of Secrets as if I were sitting an examination.
Ac yn wir, prawf llythrennol oedd hwn, lle y byddai raid i’r ymgeisydd sefyll trwy gydol yr ymbil, gan wisgo dim ond tiwnig hir o hesian wedi’i channu’n wyn fel y galchen, a gwregys gwyrdd am ei wasg, wrth areithio’n rhugl gan ddefnyddio brawddegau erchyll o gymhleth yn yr Hen Iaith Yrtheg. Fe fyddai raid chwedleua fel y cyfarwyddiaid ddyddiau gynt, gan alw ar i’r Hen Ddienyddiau swyno’r gynulleidfa, a thrwy wneuthur hynny efe a rwydai’u meddyliau, a dwyn eu heneidiau, er cymaint fyddai angerdd geiriau’r darpar Ddewin.And indeed, this was a literal test, where the candidate would have to stand throughout the entreaty, wearing but a long tunic of hessian, bleached white as chalk, with a green belt about his waist, whilst orating fluently, using sentences of terrible complexity in the Old Yrthian Language. There would be need to tell tales like the story-weaverrs in days past, calling on the Ancients of Days to enchant the audience, and by doing that we would entrap their minds, and steal their souls, so great would be the passion of the prospective Magus’ words.
Tra oedd yr Hen Feistres (ac megis rhyw gyfuniad o Blodeuwedd ac Arianrhod a’r Arglwyddes Macbeth ydoedd) yn grymial uwch ein pennau ar ei phulpud fel fersiwn benywaidd y Du Trahaus o lenyddiaeth i ddod, a Hudolion eraill yr Urdd o’r ddeutu, arogl cryfhaol coedwyrdd a araf lanwai’n hysgyfaint o ddysgl ar ben trybedd yng nghanol y cylch cysegredig. Hyhi a oedd am i mi ddioddef y ddefod urddo, a gogoneddus oedd yr hen wrones a wisgai ŵn hir ysgarlad ac arno sêr o aur, a het drichorn, ddu, ac yn ei llaw oedd hudlath o binwydd dros chwe throedfedd. Erbyn hynny cigyddes barchus ydoedd, a sêr-ddewin amatur yn achwaneg i hynny. Ac felly y cychwynnais ar f’araith, ac ymaith â ni ar adenydd gwynt main a gwawdus fy melltithiad, heb allu dal sylw ar ddim ar wahân i’r geiriau gan gyflymed yr oeddem yn hedeg —Whilst the Old Mistress (and she was like some combination of Blodeuwedd and Arianrhod and Lady Macbeth) muttered above us in her pulpit like a female version of the Du Trahaus of literature to come, with the other Wizards of the Guild on both sides, the refreshing odour of wintergreen slowly filled our lungs from a bowl on top of a tripod in the middle of the sacred circle. It was she who wanted me to undergo the initiation ceremony, and the old heroine was magnificent, garbed in a long scarlet gown with golden stars, and a black, tricorn hat, and in her hand a magic staff of pinewood over six feet long. By then she was a respected butcher, and an amateur astrologer in addition to that. And so I began my declamation, and off we went on the wings of the kee and scornful wind of my imprecation, unable to attend to anything apart from the worlds as we were flying so rapidly —
“Gosodwyd i lawr nad oedd neb na allai siarad yr Heniaith i ddal unrhyw swydd uchel yn yr Urdd hon, ac felly yr wyf wedi manwl astudio’r iaith a’r defodau i gyd. Noeth y deuthum o groth fy mam, a noeth y dychwelaf yno, ond fel y’i dywedir, fe ddylai’r plant fod yn fodlon i wisgo’r un dillad ag a wisgasai eu tadau o’u blaenau. Yma safaf o’ch blaenau chwi, a chennyf fi wisg foel newyddian yr Urdd amdanaf, ac fel hyn y llefaraf â chwi. Ond yr wyf wedi tramgwyddo’n groes i’r hyfforddiant a roddir i’r rhai sydd yn cychwyn ar y llwybrau nefol y gwybyddai Mechdeyrnedd y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol amdanynt. Yr wyf wedi llefaru geiriau nerthol, ac nid dysgwr mohonof fi mwyach. Ai oherwydd fy nghyfeillion ydych, y’m clywch chi’n ddwys, ynteu oblegid fy mod wedi dod yn drechaf ar yr hen gyfrinachau, ac yr ydych yn f’ofni i?”“It has been set down that no-one who could not speak the Old-tongue was to hold any high office in this Society, and so I have finely studied the language and all the rites. Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there, but as it is said, the children should be willing to wear the same garments that their fathers wore before them. Here I stand before you, in the meagre dress of a neophyte of the Guild, and like this shall I speak with you. But I have sinned against the instruction given to those who are setting out on the heavenly byways which the Overlords of the Eastern Desert knew about. I have pronounced words of power and I am a learner no longer. Is it because you are my comrades that you hear me intently, or because I have mastered the old secrets and you fear me?”
Euthum yn fy mlaen wedyn: “Ai aderyn drwgargoelus yw’ch enw arnaf fi? A yw’n hawdd imi gael fy nghyfrif yn ddrygionus, er mai dim ond henoed chwerw, rhagrithiol, beirniadol, ac unig ydych chi i gyd, sydd wedi methu’n lân mewn pob ymdrech? Gwir y mae’r gigfran hon yn sôn yn hyn o beth – Myfi a orfoda i chwi’r colomennod beidio ag anghofio diarhebion y doethion, ac anwybyddu dywediadau’r henafiaid. Felly llefaraf. Na cherwch gysgu, rhag eich myned yn wirion; ond er mai adfyd sy’n datblygu cymeriad, ni ddylech daflu’ch gemau o flaen y moch, rhag iddynt eu sathru dan eu traed, a throi a’ch rhwygo chwi. Pe mynegwn, a thraethu’ch gwendidau, amlach fyddant nag y gellid eu rhifo. Y mae dau beth a ddysgir yn dda yng Nghymru, sef sut i ganmol a sut i feirniadu, a gwneud y naill yn rhy dda yr ydych, tra methwch â gwneud y llall yn llwyr. Fel y’m taflwch finnau ymaith, fel na ddeloch chi byth yn ddoethion.I went on then: “Is bird of ill omen your name for me? Is it easy for me to be accounted evil, although naught but bitter old-folks are you all, prejudiced, judgemental, and lonely, who have utterly failed in every effort? Truly is this raven speaking in this case – It is I who shall force you the doves to cease forgetting the proverbs of the wise and ignoring the sayings of the ancestors. So I speak. Do not love sleep, lest you become stupid, but, although affliction develops character, you should not cast your gems before the swine, lest they trample them underfoot, and turn to maul you. If I were to reveal, and discuss, your weaknesses, they would be more numerous than could be counted. There are two things that are taught well in Wales, namely how to praise and how to judge, and you do the one too well, whilst you fail to do the other entirely. In the same way that you cast me aside, so you may never become wise.
“Mae’r mwyafrif llethol ohonoch chi’n honni bod dynolryw yn iachach, yn gryfach, ac yn hapusach nag y buont erioed, ond mae arnaf ofn na allaf gytuno. Fe ddefnyddiant holl ddyfeisiau technegol eu gwybodaeth helaeth yn ôl fel y gwelant yn dda, gan ddistrywio’r blaned. Fe gredant hefyd, am eu bod mor ddysgedig, a chanddynt gymaint o ysgrifau astrus, eu bod yn medru consurio a gorchymyn yr ysbryd dynol ac yn rheoli hyd yn oed rymoedd natur. Y mae ganddynt eisoes gymaint o arian, a meddiannau, ac uchelgeisiau, a gofidiau’n dynn o’u cwmpas na ddeuent fyth trwy borth y Deml hon pe gwerthent eu heneidiau.“The vast majority of you claim that humankind is healthier, stronger, and happier than they have ever been, but I fear I cannot agree. They use all the technological inventions of their extensive knowledge as they see fit, destroying the planet. They also believe, as they are so learned, and have so many abstruse writings, that they can conjure and command the human spirit and rule even the powers of nature. They already have so much money, and so many possessions, and ambitions, and sorrows, girded tight about them they could never come through the gate of this Temple if they were to sell their souls.
“Ond eto i gyd pobl un rhyw a eilw am i’r dymestl, yr haint, a'r milwyr, daro pobl rhyw arall â lladdfa fawr, canys beth sydd fwy dealladwy ond hefyd yn fwy anghyfiawn nag i bobl gasáu'r hyn nis adnabyddant? Pwy mwyach sydd yn cofio’r dywediad, Na fernwch, fel na’ch barner? Eto myfi sydd wedi gweld yn ystod fy mywyd byr mwy o erchylltod arswydus nag a fedrir yn awr ei draethu, nac a fedrais y pryd hynny ei oddef.“But then again people of a certain kind call for the tempest, and the plague, and the soldiers, to strike down people of another sort in a great slaughter, since what is more comprehensible but also more unjust than that people hate what they do not understand? Who any more remembers the saying: Judge not, that you not be judged? Yet it is I who have seen during my short life more terrible ghastliness than can now be recounted, nor than I could at that time suffer.
“Pe bawn i yn y bedd, yng nghroth fy mam gyntaf, hyhi a’m cadwai’n ddiogel ac a’m cuddiai rhag y gofid uffernol sydd ar y Ddaear hon dan yr Haul. Ond nid ydwyf yn y bedd, yn hytrach yr wyf fel pe bawn yn newydd-anedig. A gwn i mai Saith Swynwr y Nw Yrth sydd yn gwarafun inni ddysgu eu hud, eithr taw’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd a annog imi ei ddefnyddio’n ddwys. Geiriau sobrwydd yr wyf fi yn eu traethu yma.“Were I in the grave, in the womb of my first mother, she would keep me safe and hide me from the hell and the hellish suffering which is on this Earth under the Sun. But I am not in the grave, rather I am as if I were newly-born. And I know that it is the Seven Sorcerers of the Nw Yrth who are preventing us from learning their magic, but that it is the Indolent Idolaters who are encouraging me to use it intensely. Words of gravity am I pronouncing here.
“Felly y mae’r gwynt yn chwythu lle y mynno, eithr myfi sydd wedi defnyddio nerth geiriau hudol i’m cadw fy hunan yn ddianaf, fel pa le bynnag y crwydrwn, hyd yn oed pe rhodiwn ar hyd glyn cysgod angau, nid ofnwn ddim niwed. Ni ddywedaf hyn oll wrthych oblegid ni wyddoch y gwirionedd, eithr oherwydd eich bod yn ei wybod, ond ni sylweddolwch chwi. Ac fe ddywedaf wrthych: Wele, fel y mae clai yn nwylo’r crochenydd, felly yr ydych chwithau yn fy nwylo i, o ganlyniad i’m geiriau swynol! Oblegid nid wyf yn amau na allaf gynhyrfu calonnau’r rhai yma cyn y delwyf i ddiwedd y darn hwn, i newidio eu meddwl. Felly gochelwch chi! Os torrir yn yfflon rywbeth na ellir byth ei gyfannu drachefn na’i wneuthur fel cynt, yna fe brofir gwŷn gwahanol yn wir. Am y rhai megis ag y maent hwy’n barod i gredu addewidion y Dewin, felly y dylent fod mor barod i goelio ei fygythion hefyd.“Thus the wind blows where it will, but it is I who have used the power of magic words to keep myself unharmed, so that wherever I wandered, even if I were to walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I should fear no damage. I do not say all this to you because you do not know the truth, but because you do know but you do not realise. And I say to you: Behold, as is clay in the hands of the potter, so are you in my hands, as a result of my enchantments! For I do not doubt I can strike terror into the hearts of those here before I come to the end of this piece, to change their minds. So beware! If something is broken to smithereens that can never be put together again nor made as before, then a different passion will be experienced indeed. For those such as are ready to believe the promises of the Magus, so they should be as ready to give credence to his threats also.
“O angenrheidrwydd y gweithredais o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun, er cynted ag y penderfynais deithio lle y mae cyn lleied wedi teithio o’r blaen. Ym mha le y byddai’r achlysur unigryw’n digwydd? Meddyliwn am Neuadd y Delweddau dan y tŵr cloc, un o’m hoff leoedd. Dyna fangre sy’n fwrlwm o egnïon hynod. Ond byddai raid y cadwer pob peth yn y fan gysegredig yn lân, heb olion llysnafedd, na chwys, na dagrau; a heb ei halogi gan werin bobl, hyd at eiliad y seremoni, “rhag i’r holl nerth erch droi yn erbyn y chwiliwr.” Yn enwedig fe fyddai gan y grisial-syllwyr angen bod yn dra chynefin â’r llafar-ganeuon priodol. Hyn oll oedd yn ôl cyfarwyddiadau’r Brodyr Ioan Llwynlesg yn ei Lawlyfr Hud a Lledrith dychrynllyd o’r enw ‘Sefer ha-Marot,’ neu ‘Llyfr Drychau’ a ysgrifennwyd yn y bedwaredd ganrif ar ddeg.“Of necessity I operated on my own initiative, as soon as I decided to travel where so few have travelled before. Where would the unique event take place? I thought about the Hall of the Images below the clock tower, one of my favourite places. That’s a place that’s seething with curious enregies. But it would be necessary that every thing in the consecrated space be kept pure, without traces of snot, and sweat, and tears; and without desecration by normal folk, until the moment of the ceremony, “lest the whole dread power do turn against the seeker.” In particular the scryer would need to be very familiar with the appropriate chants. All of this was according to the instructions of Brother Johann Woodswurch in his terrifying Grimoire called ‘Sefer ha-Marot’ or ‘The Book of Mirrors’ which was written in the fourteenth century.
“Felly yn seler yr hen Dŷ Glas y digwyddai, y bwthyn hwnnw wedi’i adeiladu o gerrig cysegredig a ddygwyd o Breseli, ar gladdfa Geltaidd lle mae mynediad hynafol i Annwfn, wedi’i amddiffyn gan Mawdryn, arglwydd difarw amser, wrth i olau’r lleuad lawn ddisgleirio tu allan. Mae rhai’n ei ddisgrifio fel plasdy i’r meirwon anniddig, ac yno y cyrchais liw nos gyda’r teclynnau arferol -- dagr glân a defnydd helaeth arno, dwy ddoli glwt, potel o ddŵr rhedegog, ffres wedi’i gasglu o nant ddyw Awst, tun o baent coch (neu waed), a brwsh o flew ci -- mewn sach o hesian. Ymhellach, dod â’r drych hudol a wneuthum i weled ynddo'r pethau nas gweler gan lygaid byw. Fe adeiladais byramid sylweddol yng nghanol y llawr o bridd yn symbol o aileni, ac i weithio fel goleufa i’m harwain yn ôl, gan ei fedyddio â gwaed a dywalltai o archoll yn fy mraich chwith. Fe yngenais i’r swynion priodol, a phaentio’r arwyddion cêl, hyd yn oed y Sêl Ysgarlad y nedir i neb ei llunio ar wyneb y Ddaear. Ac yn olaf, fe lowciais i’r dracht arbennig i’r talcen.So in the cellar o the old Blue House it would happen, that cottage built of sacred rock brought from Preseli, on a Celtic burial-site where there is an ancient entrance to the Underworld, guarded by Mawdryn, the undead lord of time, while the light of the full moon glinted outside. Some describe it as a mansion for the restless deceased, and there I made for by night with the usual equipment – a purified, much-used dagger, two rag-dolls, a bottle of fresh, running water, collected from a stream on Lammas Day, a tin of red paint (or blood), and a dog-fur brush – in a hessian sack. Furthermore, I brought the magic mirror in which to see the things that should not be seen by living eyes. I build a substantial pyramid un the middle of the earthen floor as a symbol of rebirth, and to act as a lighthouse to guide me back, baptizing it with blood which poured from a gash in my left arm. I pronounced the appropriate spells, and painted the secret signs, even the Scarlet Seal which all are forbidden from fashioning on the face of the Earth. And last, I downed the special draught.
“Rhwydd disgyn i Annwfn. Fe ddarfu imi deithio’n syth ar draws ehangder helaeth y continwwm gofod-amser fel rhyw blentyn annaearol, cyn imi gyrraedd pyllau diwaelod cyfandir deheuol y Nw Yrth, yn llawn tân rhewllyd a serch a glwyfa. Ac wedyn, wedi cyfnod a deimlai fel tragwyddoldeb wrth imi fod yn y fantol yn hofran rhwng bod ac anfod, fe ddaeth gweledigaeth ohono fe i’r golwg o fôr gwaed berwedig, tra torrodd fy nrych yn gyrbibion. Ac wedyn: O, arswyd, ddychryn, ysgryd – dyma ffiaidd bwyll – Na ddywed tafod d’enw, na deall calon dy dwyll!“Easy is the descent to Hell. I immediately travelled across the vast expanse of the space-time continuum like some unearthly child, before I reached the bottomless pits on the southern continent of the Nw Yrth, full of freezing fire and love that pierces. And then, after a period that felt like eternity whilst I was in the balance hovering between being and non-being, there came into view a vision of him from a sea of boiling blood, while my mirror smashed into fragments. And then: Oh, horror, terror, quaking – here’s a mind so vile – That tongue speaks not your name, nor fathoms heart your guile!
“Baratoed oedd yr Offeiriad Coch, ymgnawdoliad yr hen Swynwyr yn ei ateb yntau. Uchel Dad Cyffredinol. y Brodyr Cwflog ydy, ac yr oedd â chwcwll am ei ben, oedd yn belen o gnawd braenllyd a heigiai â chynrhon; ac o dan ei urddwisg fudredig y symudai heb ball ffurfiau fel seirff cyhyrog. Ar ei faner las yr oedd cadlef y Saith Swynwr gormesol – Heddwch trwy Ryfel. Rhyddid mewn Caethder. Anwybodaeth yw Nerth. Fe lefarodd ef wedyn o ran ei feistri erchyll gan ddywedyd:“How ready was the Red Priest, avatar of the old Sorcerers in his answer. He is Superior General of the Cowled Brothers, and he had a hood about his head, which was a ball of corrupt flesh, teeming with maggots, and under his decayed vestments there moved ceaselessly forms like muscular snakes. On his blue standard there was the battle-cry of the Seven oppressive Sorcerers – Peace through War. Freedom in Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. He spoke then on behalf of his terrible masters, saying:
“‘Os oes gan neb glustiau i wrando, gwrandawed! Ni ddylet ti mor rhyfeddu fe ddarfod i ddynol-ryw ddewis ufuddhau i’w meistri, Saith Swynwr y Nw Yrth sydd mor haelionus a maddeugar tuag at y trychfilod y maent wedi’u dewis, a’u hachub a’u dyrchafu ar y Ddaear a becha’n gyson yn eu herbyn mor ysgeler. Hwynt-hwy a roddodd i’r Pharoaid wybodaeth ma’at ac isfet, a ddysgodd iddynt gyfrinachau’r ren, y ba, y cha, y siwt, y chaibet, yr haw, y chet, yr ib, a’r ach – a ddangosodd sut mae’r grym bywiol yn symbylu’r bersonoliaeth unigol yn y corff, gyda chymorth y cysgod – ac a esboniodd sut i glymu’r galon a’r enw ar ôl marwolaeth y gelain ar ffurf yr ysbryd nerthol, fel y rodio ef lwybrau trefn gyda hwynt fel eu gwas caeth ar y Nw Yrth am byth. A bellach yn yr oes sydd ohoni, hwynt-hwy a ddatgela’r pŵer yn niwclews yr atom, yr holl ddefnydd ar belydriad electromagnetig, a’r cyfrinachau cemegol yn organyn crwn hwnnw’n cynnwys y cromosomau ym mhob cell byw.“’If anyone has ears to listen, let him hear! You should not be so surprised that humankind chose to obey their masters, the Seven Sorcerers of the Nw Yrth who are so generous and forgiving towards those insects they have chosen, and saved, and raised up on the Earth, who constantly sin against them so abominably. It is they who gave to the Pharaohs the knowledge of ma’at and isfet, who taught them the secrets of the ren, the ba, the kha, the siwt, the khaibet, the haw, the khet, the ib, and the akh – who showed how the life-force stimulates the individual personality in the body, with the help of the shadow – and explained how to bind the heart and the name after death of the corpse in the form of the effective spirit, so that it might tread the pathways of order with them as their bond-servant on the Nw Yrth for ever. And now, in this current age, it is they who have revealed the power in the nucleus of the atom, all the uses of electromagnetic radiation, and the chemical secrets in that round organelle containing the chromosomes in every living cell.
“Ond mae’r oes oddi ar ei hechel pan fo rhai’n troi ymaith rhag llwybr rhwyd cyfiawnder sy’n arwain at fodlondeb y tu hwnt i syrffed mewn byd lle y datgelir pob cyfrinach, ac y dilëir pob staen gan wyrthiau syfrdanol ein technoleg, oni bai eu bod yn addoli dan wawl chwilysaidd yr Haul, gwir Dad i bawb. Gerllaw y dangosaf iti sut y maent yn derbyn eu cosb gorfforol a meddyliol. Ac o’th ran di hefyd, cymer ofal, deithiwr tila, sydd wedi dod yma heb wahoddiad a chyn pryd, rhag i’th gannwyll ddiffodd ar y Ddaear cyn iti ddychwelyd, rhag na fo goleuni ynot i ddangos iti i ba le yr elych wrth farw. Gwell fyddai arbed dy lais nerthol di hyd nes y bydd yn gwbl gryf wrth goleddu dy ffyddlondeb tuag at dy wir feistri. Wedyn tyrd yn d’ôl di, ac fe fydd iti wobr enfawr, a bywyd tragwyddol, os llwyddo yn y prawf terfynol a wnei di. Oblegid fel y daw’r fellten o’r dwyrain, gan lewyrchu hyd y gorllewin; felly hefyd y bydd dyfod Teyrnas y Swynwyr, lle yr oedd yn y dechrau, y mae'r awr hon, ac y bydd yn wastad yn oes, mai Ffydd yw Purdeb, Purdeb yw Nerth. Ond yn y cyfamser fe fyddaf fi wastad gyda thi. Nid oes raid i ti ond cofio hyn: Swtach oedd teitl arnaf fi yn y gorffennol pell. Felly sonier enw arglwydd trefn sy’n dofi’r anialwch coch, ac fe ddaw ar y gair!’"The times are out of joint when some may turn away from the easy path of righteousness which leads to satiation beyond surfeit in a world where all secrets are revealed, and all stains are removed by the stunning miracles of our technology, if only they worship under the inquisitorial radiance of the Sun, true Father to all. Imminently I shall show to you how they receive their punishment, corporal and mental. And for your part, too, take care, puny traveller, who has come here uninvited and before his time, lest your candle go out on the Earth before you return, so that there be not be light in you to show you where to go when you die. It would be better to save your voice of power until it is completely strong whilst cultivating your faithfulness towards your true masters. Then come back, and there shall be for you an enormous prize, and eternal life, if you succeed in the final test. For as the lightning comes from the east, and radiates as far as the west; so too shall be the coming of the Kingdom of the Sorcerers, where it was in the beginning, it is now, and it shall be for ever, that Faith is Purity, Purity is Strength. But in the meantime I shall be always with you. You need remember only this: Swtach was my title in the distant past. Therefore speak the name of the lord of order who tames the red wilderness, and he is sure to appear!’
“A chyda caniad calonrwygol utgorn o bres oedd yn ddigon i oeri’r gwaed, disgynnodd y cennad ysgethrin i eigion o blwm tawdd, llawn siapau’n debyg iawn i gyrff a gynhyrfai fel pe baent mewn gloes. Ac o’r herwydd y’i hadwaenir fel y Peintiwr Coch hefyd, gan mai gwaed a thân a chnawd yw ei elfennau, a’i eiddo ef yw’r Sêl Ysgarlad erch, a phoen chwerw-felys yw arf ei gelf. Arhosodd y weledigaeth hon gyda mi hyd nes i’r pelydryn olaf ballu yn y darn o ddrych, wrth i’r llais gorfelys fflatsian yn fy nghlustiau fel triagl, canys yn gymaint ag iddynt wneuthur llawer o bethau, y Swynwyr a ddichon demtio’r rhai a wrendy arnynt. Oblegid a gymero ddiawl yn athro, a ddysg fod yn gythraul. Âi cryndod amhosibl ei atal trwy fy nghnawd a’m hesgyrn, fy ngïau a’m mêr, wrth edrych ar yr holl olygfa uffernol, fel pe bawn yn edrych ar y llyn brwmstan, llosgedig ei hunan, canys diau y gwêl ambell un fwy mewn awr nag a wêl llawer ohonoch chi mewn einioes.“And with the heart-rending blast of a brazen trumpet which was enough to chill the blood, the terrible emissary descended into an ocean of molten lead, full of shapes very like bodies that writhed as if they were in agony. And thus is he known also as the Red Painter as his elements are blood, and fire, and flesh, and to him the dire Scarlet Seal belongs, and bitter-sweet pain is the tool of his art. This vision remained with me until the last ray faded in the shard of mirror, while the saccharine voice sloshed about in my ears like treacle, because in as much as they do many things, the Sorcerers are able to tempt those who listen to them. For whoever takes the devil as a teacher, shall learn to be a devil. An unstoppable trembling went through my flesh and my bones, my sinews and my marrow, whilst looking at the whole hellish scenario, as if I were looking at the burning, brimstone lake itself, since doubtless the occasional one shall see more in an hour than shall see many of you in a lifetime.
“Llefain ac adrodd a wneuthum, ond nid atebwyd mo’m llafarganu. Wedyn, pan eu ceisiaswn hwynt ond heb gael hyd iddynt, fe holais i’r Delw-addolwyr unwaith yn rhagor o affwys anobaith. Ac fe arhosais, a chwyno, a bloeddio tan i’m tafod fynd yn fud. Ac yna fe sylweddolais mai’r Swynwyr a orchmynna ar i ddynion gael eu rhwymo, ond y Delw-addolwyr sy’n awgrymu y gellir ein gollwng trwy’n hymdrechion ein hunain. Fe ystyriwn a ddylwn fy lladd fy hunan yn y fan a’r lle â’r darn o ddrych, ond fe wibiodd trwy fy meddwl fy mywyd hyd yn hynny, a’r gwaith mawr yr oedd yn dal i’w wneud. Rhywsut neu'i gilydd fe syrthiais i fadrondod dwfn. Trannoeth efallai fe’u gwelais hwy, beth bynnag a fo dydd a nos yn y lle yna heb amser.“I wept and recited, but my chanting was not answered. Then, when I had sought them but had not found them, I enquired of the Idolaters once again from the depths of despair. And I waited, and complained, and shouted until my tongue became mute. And then I realised that it is the Sorcerers who command that men are bound, but the Idolaters who suggest that can release ourselves through our own efforts. I considered whether I should kill myself there and then with the fragment of mirror, but my life up to then flashed through my mind, and the great work that was still to be done. Somehow or other I fell into a deep stupor. The next day perhaps, I saw them, whatever may be day and night in that timeless place.
“Mewn breuddwyd llesmeiriol fe’u clywais hwy drannoeth yn ystod rhyw gyfnod heb faint. Yr oedd eu lleisiau fel ochneidio angylion, a rhuo llewpardiaid, a sgrechian tsimpansïaid, a mewian cathod, a chwibanu a chlecian môr-hychod, a rhoncian moch, a llefain babanod, a phob sŵn arall y gellid ei ddychmygu. Nid yr un iaith ddynol a siaradai, ond pob un ar yr un pryd, ac eto y’u deallwn yn berffaith. Eu calonnau nhw’n sgwrsio â’m calon i. Ond am eu gwedd ni fedraf ddywed, gan eu bod yn trawsffurfio drwy’r amser wrth iddynt grychneidio a chwerthin ymhlith coedwig o binwydd, ar wastatiroedd ffrwythlon ger llynnoedd toreithiog dan olau’r Lleuad oriog sydd yn fam i bob creadur gwahanol.“In a hypnotic dream I heard them the next day during some measureless period. Their voices were like the sighs of angels, and the roaring of leopards, and the screeching of chimpanzees, and the mewing of cats, and the whistling and clicking of dolphins, and the crying of babies, and every other sound that could be imagined. Not in a single human language were they speaking, but in every one at the same time, and yet I could understood them perfectly. Their hearts speaking to my heart. But of their aspect I cannot tell, as they were transforming all the time as they capered and laughed amongst the wood of pine-trees, on a fruitful plain by teeming lakes under the light of the capricious Moon who is mother to every different creature.
“Mae’n tybied na ddeallent hwy beth yr ydym ni’n ei wneuthur ar y Ddaear, yn well nag y gwyddom ninnau beth y maent hwy yn ei wneud yn y Nw Yrth, ond hwynt-hwy a’n gedy ni'n llonydd i ffynnu neu ffaelu, ac a oddef inni ddwyn y fath drysorau ohonynt ag a awchom pan ddelo’r amser. Oddi wrthynt hwy a ddaw pob peth da’n rhydd ac yn rhwydd. Trwy symud parhaus y cymalau a’r afonydd yr arddangosent inni ddawnsio, trwy goethi synau’r anifeiliaid amryfal y dysgem ganddynt hwy sut i lefaru. Rhoddai’u clebran llawen gerddi a chanu inni, a chymhellai’u chwarae anhrefnus gyda’r elfennau’n celf. Ond ymddengys nad ydynt yn poeni’n ormodol am yr hadau a heuant ymhlith y chwyn, nac ymhyfrydu yn ffrwythau’u llafur drwy gydol yr oesoedd ychwaith. Dyna’u gofid cryfaf. Ni esyd y Delw-addolwyr ar eu disgyblion hunan-ddewisedig ychwaneg nag a haeddont. Mae’r rhain yn dysgu neu ddarganfod yr hyn a fedront pa bryd bynnag y mynnont fel y bydd popeth yn barod ganddynt yn y cyfryw gyflwr ar y diwedd nes y cychwynnont ar y daith olaf dan wenu am y bydd angau wedi colli’i golyn a’i wenwyn marwol. Dyma a ddadlennid imi yn fy ngweledigaeth. Fe fynegaf fi yma bethau wedi’u cuddio er pan seiliwyd y cyfanfyd. Fe’m gadewid yng ngofal tyner rhai ysbrydion cymwynasgar, a thrwy’u tirion drugareddau fe ddaeth ataf ddeall clir ac eang. “It is suspected that they do not understand what we do on the Earth, any better than we know what they do in the Nw Yrth, but it is they who leave us in peace to flourish or fail, and who suffer us to steal such treasures from them as we may crave when the time comes. From them comes every good thing freely and easily. Through the constant motion of the clouds and rivers they showed us dancing, through refining the noises of the sundry animals we learned from them how to speak. Their joyful babbling gave us poetry and song, and their mucky play with the elements spurred on our art. But it appears that they do not vex themselves unduly about the seeds they sow amongst the weeds, nor delight in the fruits of their labour throughout the ages either. That is their strongest weakness. The Idolaters do not set on their self-chosen disciples more than they may deserve. These learn or discover what they may whenever they desire, so that everything will be ready for them in such a condition in the end that they set out on the last journey with a grin, because death will have lost its sting and its mortal poison. This is what was revealed to me in my vision. I express here things hidden since the universe was established. I was left in the tender care of some beneficent spirits, and through their gentle mercies there came to me clear and extensive understanding.
“Fe welais yn nesaf orawenus hurtio’n gelynion ni mewn anferthol drobwll ewynnog o sain gogoneddus a glendid gwyllt, lle yr oedd côr o leisiau cryfaf y byd yn canu cân feddwol o gymhleth am garu, a chasáu, a chadw, a cholli, ac am uno pob peth croes. Fe sylweddolais wedyn heb feddwl sut i fwrw’r hud grymusaf, drwy ddefnyddio’r nerth symbolaidd ar galon gwe iaith, sy’n aruthrol ond hawddgar. Fe edrychaf a gwrando ar bob dim heddiw fel petai’n newydd, a gwylio’r cymylau, a’r cerrig, a’r afonydd, fel pe bont yn meddu enaid a meddwl. A chan mai’r duwdodau rhyfedd a’m bendithiodd finnau cymaint felly fe bery fy modolaeth heb dreulio dros saith einioes, petai waeth am hynny. Fel mai byw fi, meddaf, ac fel mai byw’ch eneidiau chi, myfi a wnaeth y pethau hyn. Wrth lamsachu gyda’n chwiorydd yr awelon a chyda’n brodyr yr enfysoedd, y mae’n bur amlwg bellach mai dilyn yr hen lwybrau yr oeddwn, ond gydag imi gael golwg ddirwystr ar y wlad y tu hwnt i’r llen, caeodd gorchudd o niwl amdanaf.“Next, I saw the the joyful flummoxing of our enemies in an enormous foamy maelstrom of glorious sound and wild beauty, where there was a choir of the strongest voices in the world singing an intoxicatingly complex song about loving, and hating, and keeping, and losing, and the uniting of all opposites. I realised then without thinking how to cast the strongest magic, through using the symbolic power at the heart of the web of language, which is astounding but lovely. I look at and listen to everything today as if it were new, and watch the clouds, and the rocks, and the rivers, as if they possess soul and mind. And because the strange deities blessed me so much, so my existence shall continue without wearing thin over seven lifetimes, if that mattered at all. As I live, I say, and as your spirits live, it is I who did these things. Whist disporting with our sisters the breezes, and with our brothers the rainbows, it is very obvious now that we were following the old paths, but as soon as I got an unobstructed glimpse of the land beyond the veil, a shroud of fog closed around me.
“Ac wedyn, yn ebrwydd, fe sylweddolais fod rhywbeth (beth yn enwedig?) a’m hymlidiai fi. Fe afaelwn yn y darn o ddrych am y chwyth, wrth i’r cysgodion berwedig ymosod arnaf fel gre o geffylau fampiraidd, ffyrnig, a’u cyrff yn ysgerbydau, a’u llygaid yn fflamllyd, ynghyd â haid o gŵn gwynion cynddeiriog, a’u clustiau’n gringoch. A dyna oedd lleisiau bwystfilaidd ond dynol yn f’amgylchu, gan weiddi, a sibrwd, a gwawdio, a chrio, ac annog, a gweddïo, ac fel Charles Edwards o'm blaen i, yn ei dyddiau olaf, fe glywn yn fy mhen leisiau gwŷr a gwragedd yn crybwyll pob math ar weithgareddau ffiaidd mewn pob iaith, arddull, tafod, cywair a thafodiaith a adnabuwyd er cyn cof. Rwy wedi fy nychryn ar fy hyd, ac yn wir ar fin trengi, ond unwaith yr oeddwn wedi dirnad eu bod yn ymgeisio i’m lladd trwy frathu, a rhwygo, a sathru, a gwasgu, myfi a giliodd ymaith rhag ofn, a saethu geiriau gwarcheidiol i’r tywyllwch llwyr tuag ystlys y bodau annelwig a ddymunai fy nifa, fel pes gollyngwn tuag at nod.“And then, suddenly, I realised that something (what exactly?) was pursuing me. I grabbed the piece of mirror for dear life, while the boiling shadows set upon me like a herd of savage, vampiric horses with skeletal bodies and flaming eyes, together with a pack of rabid white dogs with red ears. And there were voices, bestial but human, surrounding me, shouting, and whistering, and mocking, and crying, and exhorting, and like Charles Edwards before me, in his last days, I heard in my head the voices of men and women, mentioning all kinds of foul activities, in every language, style, tongue, register, and dialect that has been known from time immemorial. I was terror-struck, and on the point of perishing, but as soon as I had discerned that they were attempting to kill me through biting, and tearing, and stomping, and crushing, I pulled away in fear, and shot defensive words into the utter darkness towards the flank of the shapeless beings which desired to destroy me, as if I was releasing them towards a target.
“Ac edifarhaodd arnaf wneuthur ohonof fi swyngyfaredd ar y Ddaear. Fodd bynnag, y mae’r nwyd anfarwol yn y dewin, megis yn y proffwyd, y bardd, a’r artist, yn rhywbeth na ellir ei ladd wrth reswm. Felly tyngu llyfon ac addo’n ofer a wneuthum, gan weddïo ar yr hen dduwdodau gwallgof, ‘Gadewch imi lonydd fel yr ymgysurwyf ychydig, cyn myned ohonof lle na ddychwelwyf, i dir tywyllwch a chysgod ebargofiant. Eithr pwy ydwyf fi fel y delwyf fi atoch? Ac eto yn wir, dim ond trychfil dibwys fwyf fi, ond fe hysbysaf bobloedd y Ddaear ynghylch rhyfeddodau'r Delw-addolwr Dioglyd. Fe wnaf fi aberth, ac edrych hyd oni leddir y bwystfil, a difetha ei gorff ef, a’i roddi i’w losgi yn y tân.’ Yn y funud honno rhwygwyd y düwch melfed gan fflach trydan a berodd i’r endidau ffrwydro â gweryru dirfawr, llawn rhwystredigaeth ac ing, gan ysgeintio’r dirwedd anial â thalpiau dirifedi o ectoplasm seimllyd, poeth. Ym mhob man yr oedd llewych fiolet a drycsawr osôn, tra cythryblai bloeddio chwerthin aflywodraethus holl ddeunydd y lle dirmygadwy hwnnw. Seriwyd fy nghnawd fel petai gan haearn gwynias. Ac felly y’m gwaredwyd rhag crafangau’r Swynwyr gan afiaith y Delw-addolwyr. Fe gollais ymwybyddiaeth.“And I regretted I had performed sorcery on the Earth. However, the immortal passion in the wizard, as in the prophet, the poet, and the artist, is something that cannot be killed of course. Therefore I swore oaths and promised in vain, praying to the old mad deities, ‘Give me peace that I may comfort myself a little, before I go whence I may not return, to the land of darkness and the shadow of oblivion. But who am I that I might come to you? And then again, truly, only a worthless insect may I be, but I shall inform the peoples of the Earth about the wonders of the Indolent Idolaters. I shall make sacrifice, and attend until the creature is slaughtered, and separate its carcase, and put it to roast in the fire.’ At that moment the velvet blackness was rent by a flash of electricity which caused the entities to explode with an enormous whinnying, full of frustration and angst, showering the desolate landscape with countless chunks of slimy, hot ectoplasm. Everywhere, there was a violet glow and the stench of ozone, whilst uncontrollable guffawing roiled the whole fabric of that despicable place. My flesh was seared as if by white-hot iron. And so was I saved from the clutches of the Sorcerers by the mirth of the Idolaters. I lost consciousness.
“Fe ddihunais yn seler tŷ rhif saith, neu efallai dau ar bymtheg, ni allaf fi gofio mwyach; y Tŷ Glas, ta beth. Pan ddeuthum i at fy nghoed, fe welais fy mod yn noethlymun, ac yn fwcws a gwaed a chwys i gyd. Fe deimlwn fel petaswn i wedi bod i ffwrdd ers canrifoedd. Fe syrthiais i gysgu eto. Fe freuddwydiwn fy mod yn llefaru â thafodau, mai yn iaith hynafol y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol yr adroddwn, ac mewn ieithoedd estron eraill hefyd nad adwaenid i mi o’r blaen. A ddaethwn i o hyd i gyfrinach bywyd tragwyddol? Ond wrth hynny, yn groes i'ch disgwyl chi, nid wyf fi'n golygu parhau yn yr un cyflwr yn llythrennol, ar ffurf sombïaid lluddedig, wedi'u rhewi, a'u ffosileiddio, sy'n aros yn anobeithiol mewn marweidd-dra meddylwaith caethwasol, heb newid, byth bythoedd. Yn hytrach yr wyf fi'n dychmygu ennill y gallu i adael y fodolaeth hon, gan doddi ac ymddatod, fel y dychwelom heb ofn at ffynhonnell pob creadigaeth, gan atseinio ag alaw ddryslyd y cyfanfyd sydd bob amser yn datblygu."I awoke in the cellar of house number seven, or perhaps seventeen, I cannot remember any longer; the Blue House, anyway. When I came to my senses, I saw I was naked, and covered in mucus and blood and sweat. I felt as if I had been away for centuries. I fell asleep again. I dreamt I was speaking in tongues, that in the ancient language of the Eastern Desert I was reciting, and in other foreign languages too that were not known to me before. Had I found the secret of eternal life? But by that, contrary to what you might think, I do not mean literally continuing in the same state, as jaded zombies, frozen and fossilized, which wait hopelessly in a suspended animation of slavish mentation, changeless, for eternity. Buut rather I imagine gaining the ability to relinquish this existence, dissolving and disintegrating, so that we might return without fear to the source of all creativity, resonating with the universe's ever-evolving chaotic tune.
“Fe gredaf fi heb brawf diymwad fod yr ateb yng ngeiriau neilltuol ynghyd ag agwedd meddyliol arbennig. Nid oes gennyf ddim syniad sut y dychwelaswn, ond yr oedd delw’r Sêl Ysgarlad wedi’i selio’n ddwfn ar fy mrest chwith fel arwydd parhaol mai rhyfelwr dros wirionedd ydwyf. Afraid dweud y byddai raid imi ymweld â’r Clinig newydd hanner ffordd i fyny’r bryn tua dwyrain y dref o bryd i’w gilydd oddi yna, ac y deuai pawb yno yn deulu mabwysiedig imi maes o law. Na ato’r duwdodau estron i’w gweision ddioddef y cyfryw brawf byth eto!"I believe without indisputable proof that the answer is in particular words together with a special attitude of mind. I have no idea how I had returned, but the image of the Scarlet Seal had been seared deeply on my left chest as a permanent sign that I am a warrior for truth. Needless to say I would have to visit the new Clinic halfway up the hill towards the east of the town from time to time from then on, and that everyone there would become an adoptive family to me in due course. May the strange deities forbid that their servants suffer such a trial ever again!
“Gan wneuthur o Awen ein Hurdd imi ddysgu hyn oll, nid mor ddeallgar a doeth neb a myfi bellach. Am hynny, fe ddeisyfaf ar i chwi ddiffyn y goleuni a gwneuthur y gorau ohono, cyn y’ch goddiweddo’r tywyllwch. Gwrandewch arnaf oherwydd fy ngeiriau a bery am amser maith. Byw wyf fi, myfi a seiliwyd â’r Sêl Ysgarlad, a byw a wnewch chithau hefyd os daliwch ar eiriau fy llais.” Ac erbyn hynny, os eisiau tawelwch oedd ar neb, dyna’r lle i’w gael, ac yr oedd sŵn y ffrydiau byw y tu allan i’r Deml mor dawel nes gwneud i’r sawl feddwl mai troi’n swrth yn eu hunfan yr oeddent, ac nid llifo mewn hoen.“As the Muse of our Guild has made me learn all this, no-one is as intelligent and wise as me now. Because of that, I implore you to uphold the light and make the most of it, before the darkness overtake you. Listen to me because my words shall persist for a long time. I am alive, I who have been sealed with the Scarlet Seal, and living will you be also if you seize upon the words of my voice.” And by then, if anyone needed silence, that was the place to get it, and the sound of the lively streams outside the Temple was so quiet that one was made to think that they were turning listlessly on the spot, and not flowing joyously.
“Y mae mwynhad anghyffredin pan deimlo dyn ei fod yn cyflawni’i swydd briodol, er mor ddistadl fo honno. A dyma’r hwn a ddaeth trwy ddwfr a gwaed a thân, ac yn ei eiriau y mae pŵer di-ddadl. Y sawl na wrandawo ar hynny, na freicheidio hynny, ac na phrintio hynny yn ei galon, efe sydd wedi troi’n llwyr oddi wrth lwybr y Delw-addolwyr. Dyma un dyn y mae ei ddwylo’n lân, ond dyna’r lleill sydd a’u dwylo’n frwnt. Gwyn ei byd yr hon sydd arni ddysg, a rhoddwch i’r hwn sydd eisoes ganddo ddoniau rhagor, fel ag i beri iddynt hwy lwyddo. Ond gadwech i’r gweddill drengi. Diau y gellwch chwi yfed o nant iaith yr wyf wedi yfed ohoni; ac y’ch golchir â dyfroedd glân ysbrydoliaeth a’m gylch finnau’n gyson bellach.”“There is uncommon enjoyment when a man feels he is accomplishing his appointed task, no matter how insignificant that may be. And here is the one who came through water and blood and fire, and in his words is indisputable power. Whoever does not listen to that, does not embrace that, and does not imprint that on his heart, he has turned completely off the path of the Idolaters. Here is one man whose hands are clean, but there are the others whose hands are dirty. Blessed is she who is learned, and give to him who already has talents more, so as to cause them to succeed. But let the rest perish. Doubtless you will be able to drink of the stream of language that I have drunk from; and that you will be washed with the pure waters of inspiration that wash me constantly now.”
Fe ganodd y gloch deirgwaith. Daethai’r prawf at ei ben, a llwyddaswn finnau, ac ennill clod. Yr oedd rhyw ddieithrwch yn llygaid rhai o’r gwrandawyr na allent mo’m deall y pryd hwnnw, a hwy’n ddiystyr ganddynt a aeth ymaith. Ond er eu gwaethaf y Dewiniaid eraill gan ateb a floeddiai ag un llais y ffurfeb sefydlu: “Tyfwch iddo ŵn mwy coch na chuwch babŵn; torrwch iddo wisg o droed i labed clust; rhoddwch iddo groen i ddawnsio ynddo’n hoen!” Fe dderbyniais i fy hudlath a’m gŵn burgoch oddi wrth fy mam-gu, oedd yn gwenu o glust i glust (yn hytrach na chwyrnu fel mandril ffyrnig, megis yr arferai hi), a deuthum yn Feistr Llawn yr Urdd, yr ieuengaf erioed i wneuthur hynny. Ac o ganlyniad i hyn oll y gwyddwn imi gael hyd i’m gwir lais. Ni chawn i fy mwlian byth wedyn o hynny ymlaen.The bell rang thrice. The test had come to its end, and I had succeeded, and won renown. There was a certain alienation in the eyes of some of the listeners who could not understand me at that time, and they, disdaining, went away. But despite them the other Magi, answering, shouted with one voice the formula of induction: “Grow for him a gown more red than baboon’s frown; cut for him a robe from toe-tip to ear-lobe; give to him a skin for joyful dancing in!” I received my magic stave and my blood-red gown from my grandma, who was grinning from ear to ear (rather than snarling like a ferocious mandrill, as was her wont), and I became Full Master of the Guild, the youngest ever to do that. And as a result of all of this I knew I had found my true voice. I would never again be bullied from then on.
Yn yr amser a fu fe welais fel trwy ddrych, mewn dameg, ond yn awron yr wyf wedi gweld fy nyfodol wyneb yn wyneb. Am nad gwallgof mohonof fi, ond yn hytrach yr allwedd a egyr pob clo – myfi biau hawl gollwng a rhwymo – ac mae’r lleisiau annealladwy wastad yn f’anogi yn fy mlaen. Rwy’n teimlo pŵer y llef ddistaw, fain yn tyfu oddi mewn i’m brest. Fe fyddaf yn cofleidio fy niffygion a’u caru nhw, a’r rhai sy’n perthyn i bobl eraill hefyd, gan mai trwyddyn nhw rydym yn dal i fod yn fodau dynol; perffeithrwydd a chyflawniad sy’n arwain at farweiddio a thranc. Fe weithiaf cyn galetach â thrychfil dygn sy’n grillian drwy ddyfnder y nos: chep-er, chep-er, chep-er: gyda threigl amser fe ddof fi yn rhyfelwr dros ryddid, ac yn rhyw lun ar dywysydd i bobl ifainc, o dan reolaeth athroniaeth y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd.In times past I saw as if through a glass, darkly, but now I have seen my future face-to-face. Because I am not a madman, but rather the key that opens every lock – it is I who possess the power of binding and setting free – and the incomprehensible voices are always pressing me forward. I feel the power of the still, small voice growing within my breast. I shall embrace my imperfections and love them, and those of other people too, as it’s through them that we keep on being human; perfection and completion lead to stagnation and extinction. I shall work as hard as an industrious insect which chirrups through the depth of the night: chep-er, chep-er, chep-er: in the fullness of time I shall become a freedom-fighter, and some kind of guide for young people, under the guidance of the Indolent Idolaters’ philosophy.
Fe blannaf goedwig o binwydd ar bwys tŷ'n gwaredigaeth ar y bryn moel, er cof am eu neges o hunan-greadigaeth trwy arddel llif chwarae caotig. Fe fydd arnaf fi angen dysgu am alsoddeg, alcemeg, astroleg, ac ieithoedd astrus wrth geisio dychwelyd i’r Nw Yrth. Dyddiad y lleuad fefus nesaf fydd dydd Llun yr ugeinfed o Fehefin 2016, rhyw hanner canrif ymlaen. A ddisgwylia llanc priodol y seremoni – neu lances briodol, pwy a ŵyr? (Wedi’r cwbl, mae amser yn hedfan, a phan newidia amserau, nyni a newidia ganddynt, oni wnawn?) A allaf fi gonsurio ymgeisydd addas?I shall plant a forest of pines near the house of our salvation on the bare hill, in memory of their message of self-creation through rejoicing in the flow of chaotic play. I shall need to learn about algebra, alchemy, astrology, and abstruse languages whilst trying to return to the Nw Yrth. The date of the next strawberry moon will be Monday the twentieth of June 2016, some half-century on. Will an appropriate lad be awaiting the ceremony – or appropriate lass, who knows? (After all, time flies, and when times change, we change with them, don’t we?) Will I be able to conjure a suitable candidate?

Header Image Patrick Jemmer

Pennod Chwech: Gyrru (Lleisiau 2) / Driving (Voices 2)

Efallai mai’r cyd-adweithio rhwng amsugno ac adlewyrchu yw gwraidd a chraidd popeth yn y byd; pob peth hynny yw, a grëwyd trwy gêm chwarae mig rhwng grymoedd gwrthwynebol, yr un ohonynt na all fodoli heb y llall. Wedi’r cwbl, bodolaeth cysgodion a ragdyb olau, mewn ffordd debyg i sut y bydd meddyliau a syniadau (heb sôn am wrthrychau) yn y fan hon, ar y funud yma, yn awgrymu bod pethau eraill mewn lleoedd gwahanol, ychydig amser yn ôl, ac y bydd amryw bethau’n dod i fod rywbryd yn y dyfodol. Ar ben hynny, geilw hanesion am storïwyr, a fydd yn eu hadrodd wrth eu newid, ac fe fydd rhaid inni ofyn, felly — A grea plant eu rhieni? A oleua celwyddau wirionedd? A yw ebyrth yn dwyfoli’r annuwiolion? A annog ofn ddewrder? Ai digwyddiadau a wna ddynion? Felly y bo, i ryw raddau, ond dichon fod y sefyllfa’n anos o lawer, mewn realiti, lle bydd y pegynau croes yn cymryd rhan mewn proses cymhleth a chaotig gan gael eu trawsffurfio’n gyson o’r un peth i’r llall mewn ffordd na allwn ni ei rhagweld yn hawdd o gwbl heb ddilyn y llwybr i weld i ble bydd yn arwain o’r diwedd.

Perhaps it is the interaction between absorption and reflection that is the root and essence of everything in the world; every thing that is, which was created through a game of hide-and-seek between opposing forces, the one of which cannot exist without the other. After all, the existence of shadows presupposes light, in a similar way to how thoughts and ideas (not to mention objects) here and now suggest that there were other things in different places, a little while ago, and that various things will be coming into being sometime in the future. As well as that, stories call for story-tellers, who relate them whilst changing them, and we have to ask therefore – Do children create their parents? Do lies illuminate truth? Do sacrifices sanctify the impious? Does fear stimulate bravery? Is it events that make men? Thus it may be, to some extent, but perhaps the situation is much more difficult, in reality, where the opposite poles take part in a complex and chaotic process, being transformed, constantly, from one thing to the other, in a way we cannot envisage easily at all without following the path to see where it will lead at last.

Dyma ddau lanc, David a Steffan, yn mentro ar ryw berwyl drwg a drefnwyd gan y Dewin Ieuengaf, dan gyfeiriad yr Arglwyddes Macbeth, wedi dianc o artaith yr Hen Filwr a thrugareddau tyner ond sarcastig y Meddyliaethydd dan Hyfforddiant. Neu’n hytrach, efallai, dau dywysog swynol o Galon y Cyfandir ydyn nhw, Daud a Stjepan, yn eu cerbyd o bompiwn, gyda’u gweision lifrai sy’n llygod mewn gwirionedd, ac maen nhw’n chwilio am dywysogesau i’w hachub (neu gariadfab i’w garu o ran un ohonyn nhw) – yn ogystal â dreigiau gorselog i’w llofruddio, a rhyfeloedd i’w brwydro. Maen nhw mewn fan wen wedi’i benthyca sy’n llawn pethau a allai beri cryn helynt iddyn nhw, a dweud y gwir. Felly gwell fyddai defnyddio’r enwau amgen Dai a Stevo, falle, sy’n adlewyrchu’u gwir gymeriadau hyf yn fwy manwl, yn ôl rhai sydd ynddi hi, o leia’.Here’s two lads, David and Steffan, venturing out on some ill-appointed task organised by the Youngest Magus, under the direction of Lady Macbeth, having escaped from the Old Soldier’s torture and the tender but sarcastic mercies of the Trainee Mentalist. Or rather, perhaps, they are two charming princes from the Heart of the Continent, Daud and Stjepan, in their pumpkin-carriage, with their footmen who are really mice, and they’re looking for princesses to save (or a swain to caress in the case of one of them) – as well as over-enthusiastic dragons to slay, and wars to fight. They’re in a borrowed white van full of things that could get them into considerable trouble, to tell the truth. So it would be better to use the alternative names Dai and Stevo, perhaps, which reflect their true cheeky characters more accurately, according to some in the know at least.
Byddan nhw’n gwneud cryn dda trwy ddioddef cryn ddrwg – ond pwy all feirniadu – dyna rhyngddyn nhw a’u cawl, on’d ife? ‘Does unrhyw fap wedi’i lunio â symbolau na delweddau fydd o fudd iddyn nhw yn y fangre hon. Yn y pellter, ar yr ystâd, ymhlith y pinwydd, mae’n ymddangos bod rhywbeth fel tŵr golau’n tyllu’r awyr fygythiol. Bychan a wyddant eu bod yn teithio dan gysgod datguddiad mawr ac ofnadw’. A dyna lygad y tŵr hanner-dall yn wincio a disgleirio fel seren ar farw – tri dot – tair strôc – tri dot.They’ll be doing quite some good by undergoing considerable evil – but who can judge – that’s their business, isn’t it? There’s no map fashioned with symbols or images that will be of use to them in this place. In the distance, on the estate, amongst the pines, it appears that something like a tower of light is piercing the threatening sky. Little do they know that they are travelling under the shadow of a great and awful revelation. And the half-blind tower’s eye is winking and shining like a death-bound star – dot, dot, dot – dash, dash, dash – dot, dot, dot.
Ar y radio mae pregethwr ffiaidd o’r enw yr Offeiriad Coch yn orchymyn i bob pechadur ar y Ddaear (pawb felly) dalu sylw i’w rybuddion arswydus, ond mae’i eiriau llesmeiriol yn troi’n slwtsh – ‘dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, burla’ – sy’n rheibio’r ddau lanc fel gweddi a fwriedir galw ar i ryw dduwiau creulon ymddangos. A dyma un o’r cymeriadau yn ein stribed comig, Dai, Daud, David, yn meddwl – On the radio a vile preacher named the Red Priest is commanding every sinner on the Earth (everyone therefore) to pay attention to his fearful warnings, but his hypnotic words are turning to mush – ‘dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, burla’ – which are bewitching the two lads like a prayer intended to summon some cruel gods to appear. And here’s one of the characters in our comic strip, Dai, Daud, David, thinking –
O ystyried y bwcedeidiau o lol sy’n arllwys o’r radio, gan ddyrnu drymiau ‘y nghlustiau, ‘sdim syndod mod i’n clywed awydd chwydu cynnwys ‘nghrombil i dros garped budr fan wncwl Stevie. Ond, fyddai fe ddim yn ‘neud cymaint â hynny o wahaniaeth o ran yr haenen ludiog o faw – Y Saith Swynwr a ŵyr beth – sy’n gorwedd rhwng cwsg ac effro ar y llawr gan lepian ‘y nhreinyrs Vans, sy’n eithriadol o dreuliedig erbyn hyn, gwaetha’r modd. Gallwn i lefain, yn wir, ond dw i’n 'y ngorfodi'n hun i dyfu lan, nadu i’m hun ‘neud ffwdan, a llwyddo i beidio crio. ‘Neno Lushfé, ma’n ddrwg ‘da fi i fi lenwi ‘mol i â’r ddwy botel o owso – a’r holl stwff arall – gynnau fach.Considering the bucket-loads of nonsense pouring from the radio, thrashing my ear-drums, it’s no surprise that I’m feeling like spewing my guts up across the dirty carpet of Stevie’s uncle’s van. But it wouldn’t make much of a difference to the sticky layer of crap – The Seven Sorcerers know what – that’s lying between sleep and waking on the floor, licking my Vans trainers, which are exceptionally distressed by now, more’s the pity. I could cry, really, but I force myself to grow up, stop myself from making a fuss, and manage not to weep. In Lushfé’s name, I’m sorry that I stuffed my guts with two bottles of ouzo – and all the other stuff – earlier on.
Uffern dân! Ro’dd hi ‘di bod yn ddiawl o noson hir – o’dd wedi crwydro fel neidr enfysaidd drwy’r dydd nesa’ – cyn llifo tuag allan i gosi glannau tywyll eraill. Ddylwn i erio’d fod wedi prynu i mewn i’r holl rwtsh ‘na am Barti Calon Haf. Gallwn i deimlo ‘reiliad ‘na flas yr anisid afiach yn adlifo lan ‘y nhiwbs llidus. Ac ar yr un pryd, dyna gorgan rythmig yr efengylwr – ‘silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví’ – yn torri drwy’r glaw llwyd, trwchus, gan fygwth golchi’r ffordd ymaith, a’r pechaduriaid ‘ma yn y fan hefyd. Ond, wel, ch’mod, rywbryd pan fyddwch chi eisoes ar fin mynd yn benysgafn gyda choctel o sylweddau, mewn cau mwdlyd gyda thorf o hen hipis moel a’u plethi cynffon merlen yn hongian i lawr i dyllau eu tinau, wel, byddwch chi’n hwfro lan unrhyw beth fyddan nhw’n roi i chi, heb ormod o feddwl, on’ byddwch? Ac wedyn fe fyddan nhw’n cwympo i gysgu. gan adael i chi wynebu’r awdurdodau ar eich pen eich hunan. Wel, nes i chi ddianc yn y fan wrth gwrs!Hell’s teeth! It’d been a devil of a long night – which had wandered like a rainbow-coloured snake through the next day – before flowing out to tickle other dark shores. I should never’ve bought into all that nonsense about a Midsummer Party. I could feel that second the taste of sickly aniseed refluxing up my scorched tubes. And at the same time, there’s the evangelist’s rhythmic chanting -- ‘silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví’ – breaking through the heavy, grey rain, threatening to wash the road away, and the these sinners in the van too. But, well, y’know, sometimes when you’re already on the verge of going dizzy from a cocktail of substances, in a muddy field with a crowd of old, bald hippies whose pony-tails are hangin’ down to their arse-holes, well, you’ll hoover up anything they give you without much of a thought, won’t you? And they they’ll fall asleep, leaving you to face the authorities on your own. Well, until you escape in the fan, of course!
Ma’n ymddangos bod Stevie ddim yn sylwi ar shwd ma’r geiriau sy’n llifo drwy’r radio i mewn i’n lle cyfyngedig a drewllyd ni’n cytuno mor dda â naws y tywydd tu ôl – ‘turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshapa’. Yr haf yng Nghymru – y gaeaf yng Nghymru – man a man yw hi. Dw i’n crynu o glywed y rhefru dieflig, a bwrw melltithion ar ein diffyg paratoi ni – ac roedd cynlluniau cymaint ‘da fi, Dai-boi, o ran dial a difrod maleisus hefyd, ch’wel. Ond o leia’ ma’ Stevie’n cadw pethau ar fynd, gan stopio nhw rhag mynd yn ddiflas. O ble gythraul ma’r glaw gyrru wedi dod – gyda bod hi’n nosi? A ‘sdim arwydd o gysgod i’w gael, chwaith – ma’ fel corwynt yn Hawäi ‘ma. Da iawn ni o ran cael hwyl yng nghanol yr haf mewn dim ond fest a phâr o siorts – dyna un peth – ond, wel yn wir, yr Hen Dduwiau’n catwo – dyma ‘nghroen gŵydd yn rhynnu gan yr oerfel!.It seems that Stevie doesn’t notice how the words that’re flowing through the radio into our stinky and constrained space agree so well with the mood of the weather outside – ‘turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshapa’. Summer in Wales – winter in Wales – it’s all the same. I’m trembling from hearing the devilish ranting, and curse our lack of preparation – and I, Dai-boy, had such great plans for revenge and malicious damage too, y’see. But at least Stevie’s keeping things going, stopping them getting boring. Where in hell’s the driving rain come from – just as it’s getting dark? And there’s no sign of shelter to be had, either – it’s like a hurricane in Hawaii here. Good for us for having fun in the middle of the summer in only a vest and pair of shorts – that’s one thing – but, well, really, may the Old Gods preserve us – my goose-pimples’re shivering with the cold!
Diolch byth dyw e – Stevie – ddim yn trio bod yn ddigrifwr, fel bydd e’n ‘neud fel arfer. Dw i’m yn credu mod i’n gallu godde’ ei ffraethebion gwael, yn enwedig achos bod rhywbeth – dw i’m yn siŵr beth – yn gyrru iasau drwy ‘nghnawd i, ac ma’r bendro arna’ i hefyd, a bellach ma’r tonnau o garu wedi’u hachosi gan yr ymbleseru diweddar yn ‘neud i fi deimlo’n bendant sâl môr. Gallwn i fod wedi tyngu’n enwau’r Duwiau Rhyfedd oll mod i’n gallu blasu metel – yr un fath o beth a’r gwynt sy’n dod o wn newydd ei danio, a dw i’n gwgu pan dw i’n sylweddoli mod i wedi brathu fy nhafod rhywbryd – pryd yn union – o’r blaen? Sa i’n gallu cofio a dyw’r talpiau gwaedlyd o sain – ‘endilda, andíshish, lilivalis, kestala’ – yn baeddu’r awyr, ddim yn helpu. Dw i’n dymuno byddai’n ymennydd i’n gweithio, a dw i’n llowcio lawr y gegaid o waed a phoer wrth i’n meddwl i bendroi gan geisio dechrau delio â phopeth sy’n digwydd.Thank goodness he – Stevie – isn’t trying to be an entertainer, like he usually does. I don’t think I can stand his weak witticisms, especially as something – I’m not sure what – is sending shivers down my spine, and I’m dizzy too, and now the waves of loving brought on by my recent indulgence are making me feel distinctly sea-sick. I could’ve sworn in the names of all the Strange Gods that I can taste metal – the same kind of thing as the smell that comes from a newly-fired gun, and I scowl when I realise that I’ve bitten my tongue, somehow – when exactly – before? I can’t remember and the bloody gobbets of sound – ‘endilda, andíshish, lilivalis, kestala’ – defiling the air, aren’t helping. I wish my mind would work, and I gulp down the mouthful of blood and spit while my mind reels, trying to begin to deal with everything that’s happening.
Wrth i fi ymysgwyd oddi mewn i bwll du’n meddyliau, gan halio’n hunan ‘nôl i’r byd go iawn, ma’ fel ‘sai’r motor yn byrlymu, wedyn dyna nadu uchel, sŵn ewinedd wedi’u crafu ar hyd bwrdd du, yn sleifio’i hunan drwy’r wal o law wrth i’r siantio ddwysáu -- ‘brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta’. Ac ma’r fan yn rhuthro yn ei blaen hefyd – yn glouach glouach – drwy’r jeli braen o’i chwmpas – gan lafurio a chrynu’n ddirfawr. Ac yn sydyn, beth sy ar y ffordd o flaen y fan? Ife crwt yn crwydro fel enaid wedi’i ddamnio, rhyw endid ectoplasmig colledig, creadur truenus a chwfl am ei ben dan ddedfryd marwolaeth? Sut yn y Ddau Fyd ddigwyddodd hynny? Sa i’n gw’bod, ond er gwaetha’r holl gymysgedd o sylweddau cyfreithlon ac anghyfreithlon yn chwyrlïo yn ‘y nghorff drylliedig, dyma fi’n cipio’r olwyn oddi wrth y gyrrwr ffwndrus. Wedyn rhywbeth yn torri’n glec – ac yr olwynion yn troi’n fwy buan a mwy clou, ‘sdim gwahaniaeth i fi – a’r pinwydd heb fod ymhell —As I stir myself from within the black pool of my thoughts, hauling myself back to the real world, it’s as if the motor’s bubbling, then there’s a loud whining, the sound of nails being scraped on a black-board, sliding itself through the wall of rain, while the chanting intensifies – ‘brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta’. And the van’s rushing forward too – faster and faster – through the putrid jelly about it – labouring and trembling enormously. And suddenly, what’s on the road in front of the van? Is it a kid wandering like a damned soul, some lost ectoplasmic entity, a pitiful creature with a cowl on its head under a death sentence? How in the Two Worlds did that happen? I don’t know, but despite the whole mixture of illegal and illegal substances whirling about in my damaged body, here’s me snatching the wheel off the bewildered driver. Then, something snapping – and the wheels turning quicker and quicker, there’s no difference to me – and the pines not far off —
Dyna sain, llais, yn galw arna i i gofio rhywbeth arall, yn rhywle arall, rywbryd arall -- ‘anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista’ – gwynt coedwyrdd, afftyrsief rhad, ffags wedi’u smyglo. Ydw i’n gwisgo trôns glân i gyrraedd y trefnydd angladdau? Dw i’n ysu am gael brwsio’n nannedd am ryw reswm – ac yn ysu, yn cosi, yn crafu, yn llythrennol hefyd – ‘nenw’r Rhai Dioglyd, dyma chwilod y bedd yn ‘y nghnoi – dw i’n cael ‘yn lleibio’n fyw. Ma’ mrest i’n cael ei wasgu gan gerrig enfawr, anweledig. Dw i angen – rhaid i fi – ddianc – fi’n bron marw o ofn – yn daer am neidio mas o’r fan a rhedeg. Crwt ofnus – oer, chwyslyd, twym, dan glo yn y tywyllwch, sy’n erfyn am ei deganau – dw i, ac yr unig olau yw lamp stryd grynedig yn y pellter. Ife sŵn seiren heddlu yw ‘ny? Ond myn Eneiniog yr Hen Dduwiau a aeth i lawr i’r pyllau tân ar y Nw Yrth – dw i’n cael ymosodiad panig – a drwy’r amser dyna’r brygowthan atgas ‘na, yn galw arnon ni i losgi’n dragwyddol.Then a sound, a voice, calling me to remember something else, somhere else, some other time -- ‘anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista’ – ther smell of wintergreen, cheap aftershave, smuggled fags. Am I wearing clean pants to meet the undertaker? I’m itching to brush my teeth for some reason – and itching, tickling, scratching, literally, too – in the name of the Lazy Ones, the grave-beetles’re gnawing on me – I’m being eaten alive. My chest’s being crushed by an enormous, unseen rock. I need – I have to – escape – I’m almost dying of fear – desperately wanting to jump out of the van and run. I’m a frightened kid – cold, sweaty, warm, locked up in the dark, who’s begging for his toys, and the only light is a trembling street-lamp in the distance. Is that the sound of a police siren? But by The Anointed of the Old Gods who went down into the fire-pits on the Nw Yrth, I’m having a panic attack – and all the time there’s that hateful ranting, calling on us to burn forevermore.
Dw i’n gallu gweld yr holl beth – y ddamwain, ddylen ni ddweud, falle – erbyn hyn – yn araf iawn – mor araf â bo phosib, a dweud y gwir – cyn arafed â chrwban cloff yn hercian heb ei gragen am hanner dydd ryw ddydd crasboeth yng nghanol yr haf – dw i’n credu – ond ife fi ydy – pwy yw’r ‘fi’ ‘na, draw fanna, ta ‘be? Y fi sy’n bloeddio geiriau ola’r swyngan – ‘vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, deklo’.I can see the whole thing – the accident, should we say, maybe – now – very slowly – as slow as possible, to tell the truth – as slow as a lame tortoise limping without its shell at midday on some scorching day in the middle of summer – I think – but is it me – who is that ‘me’, over there, anyway? The me who’s screaming the final words of the incantation – ‘vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, deklo’.
Heb rybudd – mae’r peth, yr ysbryd, y crwt, yr anghenfil, yn dod i olwg unwaith ‘to – dyma Stevie’n brecio’n galed, yr union eiliad pan fydd injin y fan yn cyrraedd ei ‘sgrechian ucha’ – ac wedyn diffygio ma’r brêcs – gan wichian fel ‘sen ni mewn lladd-dy. O, Swtach a’n cadwo ni, dw i’n rhegi dan ‘y nannedd, am ddiwedd i barti rhydd ymhlith y pinwydd ar ôl i ni jyst ddianc o’r heddlu achos bod yr hen ‘ffernols ‘na ar y Pwyllgor wedi treio trefnu i fi gael ‘yn arestio.Without warning – the thing, the spirit, the kid, the monster, comes into view once again – Stevie breaks hard, exactly the same moment that the van engine reaches the peak of its screeching – and then the breaks give way – squealing as if we were in a slaughter-house. Oh, Swtach keep us, I swear under my breath, what an end to a free party amongst the pines after we’ve just escaped from the police ‘cos those old devils on the Committee’ve tried to arrange that I get arrested.
Dw i'm yn deall beth sy'n digwydd, w. Ma’ fel hunllef achoswyd gan fadarch hudol. Mae popeth yn symud yn araf iawn. Ac wedyn dyma fi’n sylweddoli. Ha, dyna ddigri, dw i byth yn gw'bod beth sy'n mynd ymlaen fel rheol. Dw i'n teimlo mod i'n sawl pobl ar yr un pryd, mae fel 'sai llwyth o gymeriadau gwahanol ynddo i sy eisiau dod mas a dweud eu dweud. Mae Dau Fyd yma ar yr un pryd, un ar ben y llall, wedi'u gwahanu oddi wrth ei gilydd gan fath o len. Ac yma, yn y fangre hon lle mae sylwedd yn toddi, dyma Arglwydd yr Hynafiaid a rwygodd y llen o'r blaen, yn treiddio'r llen drachefn.I don’t understand what’s happening, mun. It’s like a nightmare caused by magic mushrooms. Everything’s moving very slow. And then I realise. Ha, that’s funny, I never know what’s going on usually. I feel I’m several people at the same time, it’s like there’s a host of characters in me who want to come out and have their say. There are Two Worlds here at the same time, one on top of the other, separated from each other by a kind of veil. And here, in this place where substance melts, here’s the Lord of the Old Ones who tore the veil before, rending the veil again.
Mae stwff ym mhob man, fel gwe anweladwy, neu'r pilenni yn eich perfeddion, wedi'i dynnu dros bob gofod a lledu mewn pob bwlch. Dw i'n gallu'i glywed e, mewn ffordd, o gil 'yn llygaid, y stwff sy'n gludio holl bytiau’r byd wrth ei gilydd. Wel, mae'n debyg i jam di-liw, falle, neu well fyddai dweud jeli, dw i'n sylwi ar y sylwedd yn debyg i blastig tryloyw pan fydda i'n ymestyn 'y mysedd ar led. Ac os bydda i'n symud yn ara' ara', bydda i'n cyffwrdd â fe, ac wedyn dw i'n sylweddoli fod e'n llusgo drosta i bob tro, gan ‘neud i fi deimlo’n od iawn.There’s stuff everywhere, like an unseen web, or the membranes of your intestines, stretched over every void and spread in every gap. I can sense it, in a way, from the corner of my eyes, the stuff that’s gluing every bit of the world together. Well, it’s like colourless jam, perhaps, or better to say jelly, I notice the substance similar to transparent plastic when I stretch my fingers wide. And if I move extremely slowly, I touch it, and then I realise that it’s dragging against me all the time, making me feel really odd.
A dyna gorff dirgrynol yr Hen Feistr sy wastad yn llechu ar y trothwy, yn cynnwys miloedd o lobau llachar, yn caledu o'r tarth o’n blaen ni. A dw i'n cofio Mam (‘yn angel colledig) a Dad (yr hen ddiawl), a phawb eraill sy wedi mynd a dod, dw i 'di ceisio cysylltu â nhw i ryw raddau, heb lwyddo gan amla'. A dyma'r ceidwad sy'n nabod y porth, sy biau'r allwedd o arian, sy'n crwydro dros amser oll o dan y Sêl Ysgarlad. Dw i angen meddwl am y labwst ‘na o ffrind gorau, y Ficing, yn eistedd yn ‘yn ymyl i, a’r ferch oeraidd ac anodd ei deall, dw i'n lico cymaint (wrth ei chasáu ar yr un pryd), cyn i fi farw.And here’s the pulsating body of the Old Master who’s always lurking on the threshold, consisting of thousands of shining globes, precipitating from the mist in front of us. And I remember Mum (my lost angel) and Dad (the old devil), and everyone else who’s come and gone, that I’ve tried to connect with, to some degree, without succeeding, mostly. And here’s the keeper who knows the gate, who possesses the silver key, who wanders across all time under the Scarlet Seal. I need to think about that lump of a best friend, the Viking, sitting beside me, and the cold, difficult-to-understand girl I like so much (whilst hating her at the same time) before I die.
A dw i’n cael ‘y ngorfodi i wynebu’n holl wendidau, a diffygion, a beiau. Mor lawn sêl o’n i o’r blaen, mor fodlon ar frifo’r rhai sy’n haeddu cael eu cosbi, er gwaetha’r holl eiriau teg a’r moesoli. Ro’dd ‘y mwriad yn iawn, ta be’. Ond y funud hon mae popeth wedi newid yn llwyr. Dw i wedi drysu'n lân. Am ragrithiwr dw i, oedd wedi dymuno bod mor gas o’r blaen. ‘Sdim dewis wedyn, rhaid i fi gyfadde' wrth 'yn hunan dw i'm yn gallu 'nafu neb heb sôn am eu lladd nhw, hyd yn oed y rhai dw i'n casáu mwya', a taw gwell fyddai ‘neud da yn lle brwydro yn ôl. Sut allwn i fod wedi ystyried aberthu’r llanc twp arall ‘na? Sa i’n deall dim byd mwyach. Ro’n i eisiau llwyddo ond dw i ‘di methu. A dyma’r wobr go iawn, siŵr o fod. Ro’n i’n dweud celwyddau wrtha’n hunan drwy’r amser. Dw i ddim pwy dw i’n credu mod i. Be’ sy’n bod arna i? Cofia’r neges o heddwch a chariad, w. Ond nawr dw i ‘di rhedeg bant, unwaith ‘to. Ife ffaelu yw ‘ny?And I’m being forced to achnowledge all my weaknesses and inadequacies and failings. I was so full of enthusiasm before, so willing to harm those who deserved being punished, despite all the fine words and moralizing. I meant well, though. But right now everything’s changed completely. I’m totally confused. What a hypocrite I am, who had wanted to be so nasty before. There’s no choice then, I have to confess to myself that I can’t hurt anyone not to mention kill them, even those I hate most, and that it’d be better to do good instead of fighting back. How could I’ve considered sacrificing that other stupid lad? I don’t understand anything any more. I wanted to succeed but I’ve failed. And this is the real prize, probably. I was lying to myself all along. I’m not who I think I am. What’s up with me? Remember the message of peace and love, mun. But now I’ve run off, once again. Is that failing?
A dyna wyneb ‘yn Mam sy’n gorwedd yn yr ysbyty, druan â hi, and mae’n ymbil arna i am gael ei rhyddhau o’i hartaith a dw i’m yn medru helpu hi. Wrth i fi grychu'n llygaid mor dynn nes bod nhw’n brifo, i geisio atal y braw, dyma'r Hen Ddihenydd sy'n troi'r gofod cyn hau holl hadau caos yn ymrithio. Mae’r endid gyda’i filoedd o lygaid yn dechrau neidio at y fan, ac mae’n llysnafeddog gan olew symudliw fyddai’n achosi i unrhyw ddyn cyffredinol fynd ar drip asid unwaith-mewn-oes ‘sai fe’n dod i gysylltiad â fe. A dyma Isheth ei hun yn ymestyn ei dentaclau fyrdd o ectoplasm, seimllyd tuag aton ni i sleifio'n heneidiau ymaith.And there’s the face of my Mum who’s lying in the hospital, poor thing, and she’s pleading with me to be released from her torture,and I can’t help her. As I scrunch my eyes so tight they hurt, to try and stop the fear, here’s the Ancient of Days manifesting, that which ploughs the void before sowing all the seeds of chaos. The entity with its thousands of eyes starts to jump at the van, and it’s slimy with iridescent oil that would cause any ordinary man to go on a once-in-a-lifetime acid trip if he came into contact with it. And here’s Isheth itself stretching out its myriad slimy, ectoplasmic tentacles towards us, to snatch our solus away.
Ac mae gwynt cyfoglyd blodau pydredig yn llenwi’r awyr – a’r distawrwydd hollol – y tywyllwch llwyr –fel mewn marwdy, ond gwaeth achos fod e’n heigio â cheffylau fampiraidd, rhithiol – y noson honno sy’n digwydd drosodd a thro – noson giaidd, ysgithrog, a’i cheg yn llawn bustl gwenwynig – nos wedi dod yn flaidd rheibus.And there’s a sickly smell of rotten flowers filling the air – and the complete silence – the total darkness – like a morgue, but worse because it’s teeming with spectral, vampiric horses – that night that happens over and over – a savage, tusked night, its mouth full of poison bile – night become a ravenous wolf.
A dyma fi'n cael 'y ngwthio'n syth yn 'y mlaen yn y byd go iawn, wel, y byd dw i'n gydnabod, wrth gael 'y ngwasgu mewn rhyw ddimensiwn tu fas i'r pedwar rhai arferol dw i'n gyfarwydd â nhw dim ond drwy ddarllen yr holl ffug-wydd, a dw i'n cael 'yn estyn a throi'n sbageti ar yr un pryd. A dyna ‘mhen i’n taro yn erbyn y forden flaen – gan hollti ‘nhafod i, a llenwi ‘ngheg â hylif bywyd – gyda blas gwaed. A dyna sawr osôn, a thywyn uwchfioled, a chwerthin gwyllt. Ac wedyn – dim byd.And I’m being pushed straight forward in the real world, well, the world I recognise, whilst being squashed in some dimension outside the usual four I’m familiar with only through reading all the sci-fi, and I’m getting stretched out and turned into spaghetti at the same time. And my head smashes against the dashboard – splitting my tongue, and filling my mouth with life-fluid – with the taste of blood. And there’s the stink of ozone, and an ultraviolet glow, and wild laughing. And then – nothing.
HAEDDODD y digwyddiadau canlynol a gysylltir â’r Clinig hyglod o’r enw Y Pinwydd yn Aberdydd gael eu croniclo yn y newyddion lleol — “Wedi diflannu yr oedd dyn ifanc, dirgel, o’r clinig arbrofol, arloesol, sydd ar fin cael ei gau o ddiffyg cyllid, i’r gymuned leol, lawer gwaith o’r blaen. Bob tro byddai’n gweithredu’n rhyfedd iawn – yn helpu’r henoed i groesi’r ffordd, atal ymladd rhwng plant, paentio dros graffiti yn y Boly-Ysgol, trefnu partïon dawns rhydd ar gyfer y rhai di-waith, a chasglu ysbwriel – ym mhob achos, heb i neb ofyn iddo na’i dalu. Ar adegau eraill, byddai’n cyfieithu gweithiau gan hen feistri anadnabyddus fel Mamrick i’r Gymraeg. Ac mae adrodd heb ei gadarnhau’n honni ei fod wedi darganfod gwaith gwreiddiol yn y Gymraeg gan Tomos Aildon yn laslanc. Wrth fentro’r tu hwnt i furiau diogel y clinig, byddai’n dwyn fel arfer sach yn cynnwys dwy ddoli glwt, cyllell rydlyd, pot o baent coch, a theganau ar ffurf cath a cheiliog, o bob peth dan haul. Ymhellach, arferai’r dyn dieithr siantio mantras mewn ieithoedd estron.”THE FOLLOWING events which are connected with the celebrated Clinic called The Pines in Aberdydd deserved being chronicled in the local news — “The mysterious young man had disappeared from the innovative, experimental clinic, which is on the point of being shut down due to lack of funding, into the local community, many times before. Every time he would act very strangely – helping the aged to cross the road, preventing fights between children, painting over graffiti in the Poly-versity, arranging free dance-parties for the unemployed, and collecting rubbish – in every case, without being asked or payed. On other occasions, he would translate works by unknown old masters such as Mamrick into Welsh. And an unconfirmed report alleges that he has discovered original work in Welsh by a stripling Tomos Aildon. Whilst venturing beyond the clinic’s safe walls, he would usually carry a sack containing two rag-dolls, a rusty knife, a pot of red paint, and toys in the form of a cat and a cockerel, of all things under the sun. Furthermore, the foreigner was accustomed to chant mantras in strange languages.”
Â’r adrodd ymlaen — “Y tro hwn, fodd bynnag, daliwyd ef ar ôl damwain mewn fan wen. Ymddengys bod nyrs yn mynd â fe ymaith i gael triniaeth yn y clinig wedi iddo gael ei anafu’n ddifrifol pan oedd wedi rhedeg i’r stryd i blycio plentyn o ffordd car a yrrai’n rhy gyflym ymhlith y pinwydd, gan achub ei bywyd. Mae’r manylion yn aneglur, fodd bynnag, gan fod yr arwr tybiedig yn gorwedd mewn coma ar hyn o bryd. Nid yw’n sicr faint yw’i oedran, ond cam-drinnid ef yn enbyd pan oedd yn blentyn bach cyn dod i’r wlad hon. Gwirionai ar syniadau’r ocwlt a’r goruwchnaturiol er pan oedd wedi ymuno â’r fyddin fel sowldiwr bach yn dri ar ddeg i frwydo ar hyd a lled y cyfandir yn ôl pob sôn. Yr oedd yn dioddef o siel-syfrdandod, mae’n debyg, ar ôl y rhyfel yng Nghalon y Cyfandir. Mae’r meddygon wedi datgan ei fod yn profi rhithweledigaethau clywedol parhaol – ‘lleisiau o’r byd a ddaw’ – a’i hanogai i wneud gweithredoedd rhyfeddol ddefnyddiol o bob math. Yr oedd y clinigwr dan hyfforddiant wedi credu y dylai’r newid diweddaraf yn ei feddyginiaeth fod wedi cael effaith fuddiol, ond mae’n bosibl ei bod yn ‘anffodus o anghywir’ (yn ôl ei geiriau ei hun). ‘Amser yw’r meddyg gorau’, oedd ei sylw olaf.”The report goes on — “This time, however, he was caught after an accident in a white van. It appears that a nurse was taking him away to get treatment in the clinic after he was seriously injured when he had run into the street to sweep a child from the path of a car that was speeding amongst the pines, saving her life. The details are unclear, however, as he the would-be hero is lying in a coma at this time. It is not sure what his age is, but he was abused terribly when he was a small boy before coming to this country. He was obsessed with ideas of the occult and the supernatural since he joined the army as a boy-soldier at thirteen years of age to fight all over the continent by all accounts. It is likely that he was suffering from shell-shock after the war in the Heart of the Continent. The medics have stated that he was experiencing persistent auditory hallucinations – ‘voices from the world to come’ – which encouraged him to do strangely useful acts of all kinds. The trainee clinician had believed that the latest change in his medication should have had a beneficial effect, but it is possible that she was ‘unfortunately incorrect’ (according to her own words). ‘Time is the best healer’, was her final comment.”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voices 3

Pennod Saith: Canu (Lleisiau 3) / Singing (Voices 3)

Yn ogystal â llefaru yn y ffordd arferol, mae’n bosibl i’r llais gynhyrchu seiniau cerddorol trwy’r proses o’r enw canu. Mae rhai’n dweud mai damwain o ran esblygiad yw canu dynol a ddigwyddodd o ganlyniad i ddatblygu iaith. Fodd bynnag, mae rhai eraill yn credu i ganu ddatblygu’n gyntaf yn hynafiaid dynolryw, gan baratoi’u cyhyrau lleisiol ar gyfer siarad. Serch hynny, mae’n sicr yr adroddid straeon ar ffurf caneuon cofiadwy cyn y’u hysgrifennid. Mae canu a llefaru’n wahanol i ryw raddau, ond yn debyg iawn o ran rhai pethau eraill. Yn yr ymennydd mae sawl rhan yn ymwneud â cherddoriaeth ac iaith, y naill ynghyd â’r llall. Ymddengys y gall canu helpu pobl sydd wedi cael trawiad i siarad, trwy hyfforddi gwahanol rannau’r ymennydd i fabwysiadu swyddogaethau newydd. Gwneir canu’n unigol neu mewn grŵp, yn ffurfiol neu’n anffurfiol, fel rhan o ddefod neu wasanaeth crefyddol, er mwyn pleser neu gysur, neu fel hobi. Mae’n defnyddio technegau neilltuol, yn cynnwys gallu dilyn rhythmau cymhleth, a dal nodynnau estynedig, ac er mwyn canu’n dda mae angen amser, addysg, ymroddiad ac ymarfer. Yr ydys yn honni bod i ganu lawer o fuddion iechyd, er enghraifft: cryfhau’r system imiwnedd, lleihau pwysau gwaed, gwella rheolaeth ar yr anadl a chynaniad, a helpu gyda phrosesu gwybodaeth. O ran manteision seicolegol, ymddengys bod canu’n rhyddhau niwrodrosglwyddyddion penodol yn yr ymennydd, ac felly mae’n helpu i gael gwared ar emosiynau cronedig, gan wella ymlacio a chynyddu hapusrwydd. Llawer o rywogaethau eraill sydd yn canu’n cynnwys adar a morfilod. Mae rhai mathau o anifeiliaid yn dysgu caneuon, tra bydd rhai eraill yn canu ar y pryd, neu newyddu. Weithiau, sylwn ni, bydd giboniaid yn canu mewn grwpiau.

As well as speaking in the ordinary way, it is possible for the voice to produce musical sounds through the process called singing. Some say that human singing is an accident of evolution that happened as a result of the development of language. However, others believe that singing developed first in the ancestors of humanity, preparing their vocal muscles for speaking. Despite that, it is certain that stories were recited in the form of memorable songs before they were written down. Singing and speaking are different to some extent, but very similar in some other ways. In the brain, there are several regions involved with music and language, the one as well as the other. It appears that singing can help people who have had a stroke to speak, through training different parts of the brain to adopt new functions. Singing can be done individually or in a group, formally or informally, as part of a ritual or a religious service, for pleasure or reassurance, or as a hobby. It uses particular techniques, including the ability to follow complex rhythms, and to hold extended notes, and in order to sing well there is a need for time, education, commitment, and practice. It is alleged that singing has many health benefits, for example: strengthening the immune system, lowering blood pressure, improving breath-control and enunciation, and helping with information processing. With respect to psychological advantages, it appears that singing releases particular neurotransmitters in the brain, and so it helps to get rid of pent-up emotions, improving relaxation and increasing happiness. Many other species sing, including birds and whales. Some types of animals learn songs, whilst others sing extempore, or improvise. Sometimes, we note, gibbons sing in groups.

Yr oedd, ers cyn cof, o’r cychwyn cyntaf, yr Un ymhlith Llawer, yr Haul Disglair. Ar ei ben ei hunan ydoedd, wedi'i golli ei hun mewn dwfn fyfyrdod, gan ddychmygu ac ochneidio, fel pe bai ei dendriliau o dân wedi'u lapio mewn haenen drwchus o dywod melyn. Ac yno y disgleiriai‘n raslon yn y nefoedd am y rhawg ar hugain, gan adnabod neb heblaw amdano ei hun. A dôi’r tarthoedd, a deuai’r cymylau, ac âi’r glawogydd ymaith unwaith eto, ond ni allent byth ddiffodd ei oleuni. Am mai bywyd yw golau’r Un, sydd yn dod â ffrwythlondeb i’r Blaned gron hefyd.From the very earliest times, before memory, the One amongst Many, the Dazzling Sun. And he was alone, having lost himself in deep meditation, imagining and sighing, as if his tendrils of fire had become wrapped in a thick layer of yellow sand. And there he shone benevolently in the heavens for ages, knowing no-one apart from himself. And the mists came, and the clouds came, and the rains went away once again, but they could never extinguish his light. For the One’s light is life, which brings fruitfulness to the entire Planet also.
Serch hynny oll, chwit-chwat oedd ewyn y moroedd, ac roedd anadl y gwyntoedd yn fud, ac ni siaradai’r glaswellt a dyfai’n dirf ar wyneb y Blaned â’r Un sy’n Dad i bopeth. A chalon eiriasboeth, unig yn y nefoedd ydoedd, a arhosai i rywbeth ddigwydd. A chyda threigl amser, er nad oedd dim byd mewn bodolaeth yn ei fesur, ond anesmwythder y Golau unigryw ymhlith y sêr anghysbell, di-rif, ymhen yr hir a’r hwyr, roedd ar yr Haul sy’n tywynnu dros bawb awydd cadw cwmni mwy nag ei feddyliau ei hun.Despite all that, fickle was the oceans’ spray, and the winds’ breath was mute, and the grass that grew luscious on the face of the Planet spoke not to the One who is Father to everything. And he was a lonely, white-hot heart in the heavens, who was waiting for something to happen. And with the passage of time, although there was nothing to mesure it but the restlessness of the unique Light amongst the countless, distant stars, at long last, the Sun who shines over everyone wanted more than his own thoughts for company.
Felly, yn yr un modd y bydd tonau’n torri ar y traeth yn treulio’r lan, yr oedd yn ailffurfio ei freuddwydion. Nid oedd erioed wedi syllu mor ystyriol o'r blaen ar y coed urddasol, gan synhwyro bob symudiad bychan eu canghennau. Yn awr yr oedd yn profi’r llonder sy’n dod pan yf pridd cras ddŵr croyw; am y tro cyntaf yr oedd yn cydnabod y cynnwrf a fydd pan flagura egin o’r newydd. Yn y fan a’r lle, wrth i’r Un oedi i wrando, dechreuodd y greadigaeth i gyd lefaru. Ac eto y daliai’r Un i lewyrchu.So, in the same way that waves breaking on the beach wear away the shore, he reformed his dreams. Never before had he stared so intently at the stately trees, feeling each tiny movement of their branches. Now he experienced the joy that comes when scorched soil deinks fresh water; for the first time he recognised the excitement when buds sprout afresh. Then and there, as the One shopped to listen, all creation began to speak. And the One still shone on.
Yn y dyddiau hynny ar wawr cof, ymhell o bobman, pan ddisgynnai’r Un o’r wybren, a sibrydai’r blodau gyfrinachau, fe ddeath creaduriaid symudol o bob math – anifeiliaid sy’n rhedeg a hela a chyplu, bywyd gwyllt ar y gweundiroedd, pysgod yn y môr, adar yn yr awyr, ymlusgiaid sy’n llithro, a phryfed sy’n cythru – i fodoli ar y Blaned, am mai'r Un arferai dramwyo'r tiroedd uchel a’r gwaelodion fel ei gilydd heb rwystr, ac wrth iddo wneud hyn, bob yn ychydig y’i hanfonid yn berlewyg. Symud pob cangen a oedd yn ei lenwi’n llawn i’r ymyl â gorfoledd, ac wrth i’w brofiad ddwysáu, fe drawodd ef gân.In those days at the dawn of memory, far from anywhere, when the One would come down from the firmament, and the flowers spoke secrets, moving creatures of all kind – animals that run and hunt and mate, wildlife on the moors, fish in the sea, birds in the air, creeping things that slither, and insects that scurry – came to exist on the Planet, because the One used to walk the high lands and the plains alike without impediment, and as he did this, little by little he became entranced. The motion of every branch filled him full up with rejoicing, and as his experience intensified, he broke into song.
Nid oedd unrhyw sain o’r un fath erioed wedi'i chlywed o’r blaen ar yr Yrth, na hyd yn oed yn y ffurfafen, ar wahân i gerddoriaeth anghysbell y nefolion leoedd. Ac yn yr eiliad gyntaf honno pan ebychodd meddyliau’r Un yn eiriau llafar, atebodd y Blaned. Y gweryd ei hunan a wnaeth droi’n hylif gludiog, trwchus, ac mewn mannau malwyd y creigiau’n ysgyrion, a hyd yn oed curiad calon danllyd y Blaned y gellid ei glywed. Ac yna’n raddol, cychwynnodd y lafa tawdd, a oedd newydd fod yn gweiddi oddi isod i groen caregog y Byd crwn, dorri trwy’r grawen, gan ffrydio allan a chodi mewn bysedd o hylif creigiog oedd yn ymestyn tuag at yr awyr iach, cyn ymsuddo, a slochian i lawr i berfeddion y Blaned unwaith eto.Never before had any sound of the same kind been heard on the Yrth, nor even in the firmament, apart from the distant music of the heavenly places. And in that first instant when the thoughts of the One burst forth in spoke words, the Planet responded. The soil itself turned to thick, sticky fluid, and in places the rocks were smashed to smithereens, and even the beating of the Planet’s fiery heart could be heard. And then gradually, the molten lava, which had just been crying out from below the round World’s stony skin, began to break through the crust, spurting out and rising up in fingers of rocky liquid, which reached out towards the fresh air, before subsiding, and sloshing down to the depths of the Planet once again.
Wedyn, wrth i lonydd ddisgyn, gyda sibrwd tyner awel, fe ddechreuodd yr Haul sylwi ar y mymryn lleiaf o newid. Ac yn syfrdan roedd yr Un yn gwylio hyn oll a oedd yn digwydd ond nid yn ddistaw. Gan mai erbyn hyn creaduriaid newydd sbon a oedd yn sgwrsio â fe, yn awr roedd plant cnawdol, cochdduon y pridd yn cymryd eu bywyd eu hunain am y tro cyntaf. Ac o hynny ymlaen, fe fyddai’r Blaned yn hollol wahanol yn oes oesoedd; a’r Nw Yrth fyddai ei henw newydd hi. Wrth i’r Un sydd uwchben pob dim anadlu'n gyflym o ganlyniad i’r wyrth hon, yr oedd yr anifeiliaid yn clywed y chwa fywhaol o wynt, a dynesu yn ei gylch ef er mwyn canu eu bywyd. Ac wedyn y cyhoeddodd yr Un y geiriau hyn i bawb:Then, as peace descended, with the tender sighing of a breeze, the Sun began to notice the slightest amount of change. And in surprise the One watched all that was happening, but not in silence. For by now brand-new creatures were conversing with him, now, the russet, fleshy children of the soil assumed their own life for the first time. And from then on, the Planet would be totally different forevermore; and the Nw Yrth would be its new name. As the One who is above everything breathed quickly as a result of this miracle, the animals sensed the life-giving gust of wind, and drew up around him to sing their lives. And then the One proclaimed these words to all:
Wrth i goed ffrwytho fe blygant ac ymostwng,
Llawn glaw, fe gwsg cymylau trymion mewn hedd,
Dylai’r rhai a symuda weiddi a chwarae’n hoenus,
Gan taw hynny yw ystyr gwir hoedl o dan yr Haul.		While trees bear fruit they bend and are humble,
Full of rain, heavy clouds slumber in peace,
Those who move should shout and play joyously,
For that is the true meaning of life under the Sun.
Felly, o’r dechreuadau hyn, fy mhlant i, y daeth i fod bob creadur symudol sy’n trigo gyda ni heddiw. Ond ni chawsom ein gwneud yn ddelw o’r Un ei hunan i fod yn debyg iddo, i fod yn feistri sy'n rheoli dros bopeth ar y Blaned gyfan heb sôn am yn y Cyfanfyd. Nid oedd yn gweithio o’i ben a’i bastwn ei hun ‘chwaith, a bod yn berffaith onest, ond yn hytrach, dim ond dilyn llwybr wedi’i greu gan grwydro’r sêr eraill a wnaeth. Does angen dweud, yn gyntaf oll buom ni i gyd o’r un fath, ac yn chwiorydd a brodyr inni’n gilydd, er bod ein ffurfiau ni’n aneglur. Eto i gyd, o ben bwy gilydd y mae cynlluniau’r Un wastad dan orchudd o ddirgelwch. Ond fe ellwch fod yn siŵr y byddai ef yn rhoi pen ar y cyflwr hwn o hurtrwydd diniwed maes o law.Thus, it is from these beginnings, my children, that there came to be every moving creature which dwells with us today. But we were not made in the image of the One himself, to be like him, to be masters who rule over everything on the entire Planet not to mention in the Cosmos. He was not working under his own initiative either, to be perfectly honest, but rather, he was only following a path created by the wandering of the other stars. Needless to say, first of all, we were all of the same kind, and sisters and brothers to each other, although our forms were unclear. Then again, from start to finish, the plans of the One are always under a cloak of secrecy. But you can be sure that he would put an end to that condition of innocent stupidity in due course.
Nawr, yn y dyddiau ffresiaf hynny, pan ddeuai’r Haul eto i lawr o’r nefoedd er mwyn dawnsio yn ein plith ni, a chwarae gyda ni, arferai pob creadur byw ar wyneb y Nw Yrth ymddangos yr un peth, ac fe ganent yr un gân i’w gilydd ac i’r Un Disglair. Ac wrth i olau’r Haul ymledu o’r Dwyrain i’r Gorllewin bob dydd, byddai bywyd yn mentro draw a thraw i mewn i’r mannau da, a byddai pob creadur yn mynd i fyw i lan bryn neu mewn cwm, ar dir sych ynteu mewn dyfroedd y llynnoedd a’r môr, yn ôl cân ei galon. Tra twymid aelodau newydd grai cread gan belydrau’r Un Llachar, hyd yn oed y creigiau a’r afonydd a oedd yn ymuno â’r gerddoriaeth lon.Now, in those freshest days, when the Sun would yet come down from the heavens in order to dance amongst us, and play with us, every living thing on the face of the Nw Yrth used to look the same, and they sang the same song to each other and to the Resplendent One. And whilst the Sun’s light spread from the East to the West every day, life ventured here and there into the good places, and every creature used to go to dwell up a hill or in a valley, on dry land or in the waters of the lakes and the sea, according to his heart’s song. Whilst the brand-new members of creation were being warmed by the rays of the Dazzling One, even the rocks and the rivers joined in with the joyous music.
Ond pan ddisgynnai’r Haul o’r awyr, a mynd o’r golwg ddiwedd pob dydd, er mwyn ymweld â gwledydd pell rywle arall dros y môr, fe âi’r creaduriaid yn ofnus, a chynnull at ei gilydd ar gyfer cysur. Ac roedd eu lleisiau’n groch oherwydd eu hamheuaeth wrth iddynt syllu i fyny ar y Lleuad Oriog, nad yw ei hwyneb yn gyson, eithr yn hytrach a dyfa a lleihau gyda’r nos yn ystod pob mis.But when the Sun descended from the sky, and went out of sight at the end of each day, in order to visit far lands somewhere else overseas, the creatures would become fearful, and come together for reassurance. And their voices were strident because of their doubt as they stared up at the Fickle Moon, whose face is not constant, but which instead waxes and wanes at night during each month.
Ac wedyn, yr oedden nhw’n canu cân drist heb eiriau yn y lloergan, gan alarnadu ymadael Tad pawb. A dyma ystyr y gân honno. Fe gyhoeddasant: Fe ddylem gasglu at ei gilydd ddefnyddiau crai, meini, a changhennau, a dŵr, a llaid; ac fe ddylem adeiladu tŵr tal yn estyn at y Lleuad. Oblegid mai dim ond y Lloer arhosa gyda ni pan fydd hi’n nosi ac yn oeri, pan fydd yr Un wedi mynd i ffwrdd. Ac eto, tra bydd yr Haul yn gadael a dychwelyd unwaith yn ystod y dydd yn ôl y drefn arferol, y Lloer fydd yn cuddio’i hwyneb a’i ddatgelu’n rheolaidd gyda chylchred y tymhorau.And then, they sang a sad song without words in the moonlight, lamenting the departure of the Father of all. And here is the meaning of that song. They declared: We should collect together raw materials, stones, and branches, and water, and mud; and we should build a tall tower reaching to the Moon. Because only the Moon stays with us when it gets dark and cold, when the One has gone away. And again, while the Sun leaves and returns once during the day according to the usual order, the Moon hides her face and reveals it regularly with the cycle of the seasons.
Fel hyn y gallwn ni ddod yn nes at y Lleuad ein Mam, gan edrych arni’n gariadlon, a chanu ati hi’n dyner, a chofleidio’i golau bywiocaol; ac fe gân pawb gyda'i gilydd yr un gân gref, fel y gwybydd pob un a’i clyw taw plant y Lleuad ydym. Ac yna nid ofnwn ni mwyach, ond yn lle hyn y byddwn yn chwiorydd cryfion a brodyr cedyrn, yr un a’r unrhyw, a nyni fydd biau holl wyneb y Nw Yrth gan ei rannu gyda’n gilydd, ac fe ddygwn ni’r un enw a chanu’r un gân, gan wybod y gallwn ni fyw heb olau’r Haul. Am fod yn hytrach, fe fyddwn ni’n ferched a meibion i’r Lloer! Ac felly, yn unfryd, a chydag un gân, cychwynnodd epil y pridd godi eu tŵr – y rhan fwyaf o’n henafiaid, beth bynnag, ond nid pob un ohonynt, gan fod wyth a sleifiodd ymaith, yn esgus bod arnynt angen ymarfer mwy er mwyn canu’n berffaith.In this way we shall come closer to the Moon our Mother, looking on her lovingly, and singing to her tenderly, and embracing her life-giving light; and everyone shall sing together the same strong song, so that everyone who hears it shall know that we are the children of the Moon. And then we shall not fear any more, but instead of this we shall be strong sisters and robust brothers, one and the same, and it is we who shall own the whole face of the Nw Yrth, sharing it with each other, and we shall bear the same name and sing the same song, knowing that we can live without the Sun’s light. Since, rather, we shall be daughters and sons of the Moon! And so, unanimously, and with one song, the spawn of the soil began to erect their tower – the majority of our forebears, anyway, but not every one of them, because eight slunk away, pretending that they needed to practise more in order to sing perfectly.
Ond yn y nefoedd uwchben, wedi’i gelu gan y cymylau, fe glywodd Tad popeth eu canu’n drist, a gweld eu codi, a gwybod eu bod nhw wedi’i wrthod ef, gan gadw eu hunain yn unig i’r Lleuad, y llygad hwnnw fydd yn ysmicio’n hyf yn awyr y nos. A phan welodd ef fod y creaduriaid i gyd yn llafurio gyda’i gilydd, fel hiliogaeth y Lloer, gan ganu’r un gân wrth iddynt weithio, wedyn y sibrydodd wrtho’i hun. A dyma’r hyn a ddywedodd. Wel, yn awr mae fy mhlant yn f’anghofio i, ac ni dda ganddyn nhw ‘mo’m golau adfywiol rhagor ‘chwaith, ac maen nhw’n cydweithio i godi tŵr yn estyn tuag at y Lleuad, sy’n amrantu fel llygaid lloerig yn nhrymder y nos.But in the heavens above, hidden by the clouds, the Father of everything heard their sad singing, and saw their building, and knew they had rejected him, giving themselves solely to the Moon, that eye that twinkles cheekily in the night sky. And when he saw that all the creatures were labouring together, like the Moon’s progeny, singing the same song as they worked, then he whispered to himself. And here is what he was saying. Well, now my children are forgetting me, and they do not care any more for my reviving light either, and they are working together to raise a tower reaching towards the Moon, who winks like a mad eye in the depths of the night.
Pwy a ŵyr beth a wnân nhw o hyn ymlaen, am nad ydw i’n deall eu hamcanion, a ta be’, yr unig beth dw i eisiau ‘neud bob amser yw chwarae yn y nefoedd gyda’r cymylau a’r gwyntoedd, a dawnsio ar wyneb gwyrdd y Nw Yrth gan ganu cân nad yw neb arall yn deall ei geiriau. Ac ar ben hynny, dim ond adlewyrchu fy ngolau a wna’r Lloer, ac er i fi wybod y bydd y diwrnod nesa’n dilyn yr un o’i flaen yn amseroedd, serch ‘ny, fe fydda i yn y pen draw yn heneiddio a blino ar fy chwarae, ac fe ddaw bywyd i gyd i ben yr adeg honno, gan fynd yn ôl i’r lle y daeth ohono dan lenni nos dragwyddol, dim ond i ddechrau unwaith eto, falle, mewn ffordd, ac ar ffurf, dw i’m yn medru’i rhagweld.Who knows what they will do from here on, as I do not understand their intentions, and anyway, the only thing I want to do all the time is play in the heavens with the clouds and the winds, and dance on the green face of the Nw Yrth, singing a song whose words no-one else understands. And moreover, the Moon only reflects my light, and although I know that the next day will follow the previous one for the time being, despite that, I shall, in the end, grow old and tire of my playing, and all life shall come to an end at that time, going back to whence it came, under the veil of eternal night, only to begin once again, perhaps, in a way, and in a form, I am not able to foresee.
Felly, achos bod fy mhlant yn f’anghofio i, ac yn gweithio a chanu gyda’i gilydd yn hytrach na chwarae gyda fi, gan fy ngwatwar i, fi a wna chwerthin am eu pennau nhw, gan eu hatgoffa nhw taw dim ond o achos fy ngolau bywiocaol y maen nhw’n bodoli, ac mai dim ond adlewyrchu fy ngolau i a wna’r Lleuad, ac mai pan fydda i’n mynd yn lluddedig, wedyn y dychwel popeth i’r llaid o ble y daeth yn wreiddiol, a’r pryd hynny y gorffen y canu i gyd.So, since my children forget me, and work and sing together rather than play with me, mocking me, I shall laugh at them, reminding them that it is only because of my life-giving light that they exist, and that the Moon only reflects my light, and that when I become exhausted, then everything shall return to the muck from which it came originally, and at that time shall all singing cease.
A dyma beth a wna i. Canu cân fawreddog o ofid a gorfoledd a wna, ac fe eilw hi at bob creadur byw ar wahân i bob un arall, ac mewn ffordd wahanol, cyn gynted ag y bydd yn ei chlywed. Ac o fewn yr eiliad honno y bydd e’n trawsffurfio a dod yn annhebyg i weddill y creaduriaid eraill ar wyneb y Nw Yrth. Ac yna y newidia ei gân hefyd. Nid rhagor bydd e’n dewis ei lais na’i eiriau, na bydd e’n byw yn hollol gytûn â’r creaduriaid eraill i gyd ar y Blaned hon.And this is what I shall do. I shall sing a majestic song of fear and rejoicing, and it shall call on each living creature separately from every other one, and in a different way, as soon as he hears it. And within that instant he shall transform and become unlike the rest of the other creatures on the face of the Nw Yrth. And then his song shall change too. No longer shall he choose his voice and his words, nor shall he live in complete harmony with all the other creatures on this Planet.
Yn hytrach, fe fydd y naill yn ymryson â’r llall, ac fe fydd helynt; ac ni fydd yr un ohonyn nhw’n medru byw na thyfu mewn heddwch; na bydd yr un fath yn paru â’r rhai eraill. A bryd hynny y cofia’r creaduriaid i gyd, fesul un, a phob un ar ei ben ei hunan, taw’r Un unig ydw i sy’n rhoi bywyd iddyn nhw, ac fe alwan nhw ar f’enw er mwyn i fi estyn cymorth iddyn nhw. Ac wrth i’r Un ganu’r meddyliau hyn mewn myfyrdod dwys, gan brancio ar ben mynydd dan orchudd o niwl, yn wir, fe ddarfuant. Yn ddisymwth, fe deimlodd y creaduriaid gweithgar ias sydyn o ofn fel petai wynt mawr, oer yn codi, ac wedyn chwythu’n greulon trwy lystyfiant crynedig y Nw Yrth.Rather, the one shall contend with the other, and there shall be strife; and not one of them shall be able to live and to grow in peace; nor shall the one kind couple with the other kinds. And it is at that time that all the creatures, one by one, and each one on his own, shall remember that I am the only One who gives them life and they shall call on my name so that I will give them help. And while the One sang these thoughts in deep meditation, prancing on top of a mountain under a veil of fog, verily, they came to pass. Unexpectedly, the hard-working creatures felt a sudden shudder of fear as if a great, cold wind was rising, and then blowing cruelly trough the trembling vegetation of the Nw Yrth.
Yn awr, wrth i gân Tad popeth, ddychrynllyd o hardd, a phrydferth o frawychus, lifo drostynt, mewn gwirionedd, pob chwaer a brawd a ddechreuodd newid. Ac wrth iddynt fynd yn wahanol, trawsffurfiwyd eu cyrff, eu hwynebau, eu siapau a’u lliwiau; a chychwyn newid a wnaeth eu caneuon hefyd. Ac yno, mewn llewyg, yr oedd pob math o fwystfil newydd yn dweud ei enw unigryw ar goedd ac ar wahân i’r lleill am y tro cyntaf. A dyma ran o’r hyn a lefarasant, sydd erbyn hyn y swyngan rymusa’ o enwi a rhwymo:Now, as the Father of all’s song, terrifyingly beautiful and handsomely frightening, flowed over them, in truth, every sister and brother was beginning to change. And as they became different, their bodies. and their faces, their shapes, and their colours, were transformed; and their songs began to change too. And there, in a swoon, was every sort of new creature saying his unique name out loud and separate from the others for the first time. And here is part of what they spoke, which is by now the most powerful spell of naming and binding:
“Dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, burla -- silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví -- turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshapa -- endilda, andíshish, lilivalis, kestala -- brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta -- anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista -- vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, deklo…”.
“Cwningen, cath., broch, pryf – gwenynen, mwyalch, ewig, corryn – ceiliog, cricsyn, ci, ffured – llyffant, gafr, iâr, ceffyl – arth, gwadd, tylluan, llygoden – mochyn, cigfran, dafad, sarff – alarch, mwydyn, byfflo, nyni...”
“Rabbit, cat, badger, insect – bee, blackbird, hind, spider – cockerel, cricket, dog, ferret – toad, goat, hen, horse – bear, mole, owl, mouse – pig, raven, sheep, snake – swan, worm, buffalo, us..."
Yr oedd yr anifeiliaid yn parhau i enwi eu hunain drwy gydol y dydd, ac ar hyd y nos, o'r naill ben i'r wythnos i'r llall, drwy'r mis crwn cyfan, a daeth golau’r Lleuad a mynd i ffwrdd unwaith eto, wrth i’r creaduriaid greu eu hunain ac ymgyflwyno i’r Un ac i’w gilydd. A’r rhai a siaradodd olaf oedd y rhai ar Gyfandir Deheuol y Nw Yrth, sydd wedi dweud celwyddau wrth eu cymrodyr, er mwyn ymguddio rhag cael eu cosbi ac i osgoi gwamalu’r Haul. Wyth ohonynt oedd, ac yr oeddent wedi rhoi llawer o enwau iddynt eu hunain, megis ‘ampashu, azarié, delkurí, eldo, namana, nekendu, silba, ulkru,’ fel petaent yn dymuno goresgyn grym gormesol iaith, a gwneud tynged yr Un yn gyff gwawd.The animals continued to make themselves throughout the day and throughout the night, from one end of the week to the other, through the entire month, and the light of the Moon came, and went away again, whilst the creatures created themselves and introduced themselves to the One and to each other. And the ones who spoke last were the ones on the Nw Yrth’s southern continent, who had told lies to their comrades, in order to hide themselves from being punished and to avoid the Sun’s frivolousness. Eight of them there were, and they had given many names to themselves, such as ‘ampashu, azarié, delkurí, eldo, namana, nekendu, silba, ulkru,’ as if they desired to overcome the oppressive power of language, and make the One’s fate into a laughing stock.
Ac i ryw raddau llwyddasant, y rhai a oedd wedi ffoi yn y dechreuad, am nas newidiwyd, ac arosasant yn yr un ffurf gysefin. Ac fe luniasant enwau personol iddynt eu hunain hefyd, sef Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, Nebesh, a Swtach. A dyma’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd, saith ohonynt o leiaf, sy’n ymddangos yn ddychrynllyd hyd yn oed heddiw. Ac maent yn casáu’r Byd i gyd a phopeth sydd ynddo, am ei fod yn eu gwatwar a’u cofio am y gorffennol newidiol a fu unwaith ond na fydd byth eto. Ac felly y maent yn ceisio ei ail-wneuthur ar eu delw lem eu hunain. Ond tra byddai Saith o’r rhain yn teyrnasu’n ormesol dros y Nw Yrth yn y dyfodol, un a ddeuai’n was i’r lleill o ganlyniad i’w wrthryfel. Ac am hynny, y sarff a wyddai, ac a ŵyr o hyd, fwy nag a ddywedai; ac mae’n siarad lai byth erbyn hyn, wrth ymlusgo’n anweledig dan laswenu’n ddistaw.And to some extent they succeeded, the ones who had fled in the beginning, as they were not changed, and they stayed in the same primal form. And they fashioned personal names for themselves too, namely Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, Nebesh, a Swtach. And these are the Seraphic Sorcerers, seven of them at least, who appear terrifying even today. And they hate the whole World and everything which is in it, as it mocks them and reminds them of the changeable past which was once, but will never be again. And so, they try to remake it in their own harsh image. But while Seven of these would rule tyrannically over the New Yrth in the future, one would become slave to the rest as a result of his rebellion. And about that the snake knew, and knows still, more than he would say; and he speaks less still now, whilst slithering unseen, grinning silently.
Ac wedi gorffen datgan eu henwau, ni allai’r rhai o’r un fath ddeall cân y fath arall. Ond enw’r un a ddangosai awch ei big, neu graffter ei lygaid, neu gyflymder ei adain, neu afael ei gynffon. Ac felly yr aethant i ffwrdd o dan yr awyr asuraidd er mwyn archwilio posibiliadau eu cyrff newydd, a llefaru â’u lleisiau newydd, er na siaradai’r un fath â’r fath arall.And having finished declaring their names, the ones of one kind could not understand the song of the other kind. But the name of the one showed the sharpness of his beak, or the keenness of his eyes, or the swiftness of his wings, or the grip of his tail. And so they went away under the azure sky in order to investigate the possibilities of their new bodies, and to speak with their new voices, although one kind did not speak with the other.
A sblasiai rhai mewn dŵr, a dyheai rhai eraill wrth lafurio i fyny mynyddoedd, ac âi un arall i drigo ymhlith yr iâ, ac un arall eto i grwydro ar y gwastatiroedd, ond eto i gyd byddai rhai’n mentro i’r gwyntoedd. Ac roedd gan bob un ei nodwedd arbennig ei hunan, a oedd yn gwahaniaethu rhwng y naill a’r llall. Ond rhywbeth arall yn llwyr a ddigwyddodd i’n cyndadau hynafol ni, y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi, Arolygwyr Anawdurdodol Anochel y Nw Yrth, a oedd wedi dod gyntaf o’r creaduriaid i gyd at yr Haul i dderbyn ei farn a’u ffawd yn llawn hwyliau da, dan chwerthin a neidio, gan eu bod yn caru’n Mam ac yn ymddiried yn ein Tad hefyd.And some splashed in water, and others panted whilst labouring up mountains, and another went to dwell amongst the ice, and another again to wander on the plains, but then again there were some venturing onto the winds. And each one had his own special characteristic, which differentiated between the one and the other. But something else entirely happened to our ancient forefathers, the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters, the Ineluctable Unauthoritative Overseers of the Nw Yrth, who had come first of all the creatures to the Sun to receive his judgement and their fate, full of good spirits, laughing and jumping, as they loved our Mother and trusted our Father too.
A'r gwahaniaeth sylfaenol oedd hyn: ni fyddent yn gorffen newid byth, nac aros mewn un ffurf o gwbl wrth drawsffurfio bob amser. Yn hytrach fe fyddent wastad yn prancio a chwarae, wrth ganu’n gyson eu cân gaotig a chyfnewidiol o orfoledd ac anobaith i’n Mam, y Lleuad, wrth ganu clod ein Tad, yr Haul hefyd.And the fundamental difference was this: they would never finish changing, nor stay in one form at all whilst transforming all the time. Rather, they would always gambol and play whilst constantly singing their chaotic and changeable song of exultation and despair to our Mother, the Moon, whilst praising our Father, the Sun, also.
Felly yr oedd pob math o greadur yn ei throi hi’n ddigalon, gan ddilyn ei lwybr ei hun, a llefaru ei iaith neilltuol, o’r paith lle roedd yr Un wedi dysgu iddynt siarad, ac o ble roeddent wedi'u gwasgaru dros wyneb y Nw Yrth. Ac o hynny ymlaen, roedd y Blaned yn fangre oerach a chaletach, ond eto i gyd, roedd yn fwy amryfal a lliwgar hefyd. Thus, each type of creature went away downhearted, following his own path, and speaking his particular language, from the prairie where the One had taught them to speak, and from where they had been scattered across the face of the Nw Yrth. And from then on, the Planet was a colder and harder place, but then again, it was more varied and colourful too.
A ffynnu a wnâi trigolion y Byd, a lluosogi, gan ymladd yn erbyn ei gilydd; a phan fyddai’r naill wedi lladd y llall, wedyn y’i bwytai, neu ynteu adael i’w gelain bydru. Ac amrywiaeth esgorai ar wahaniaeth yn ôl cân yr Haul, yn yr un ffordd fel y blagura’r planhigion heb feddwl am y canlyniadau.And the World’s inhabitants flourished, and multiplied, fighting against one another, and when the one had killed the other, then he would eat it, or leave its corpse to rot. And variety gave birth to difference according to the song of the Sun, in the same way that plants sprout without thinking about the consequences.
Ond ar yr un pryd, roedd angen ar y Swynwyr Seraffaidd, sydd wedi rhoi llawer o enwau iddynt eu hunain, fod yn ffrwythlon, a gorchuddio’r Byd â’u hepil. Ac roedd y Delw-addolwyr yn enwedig yn gas ganddynt hwy, a oedd yn ffieiddio popeth afreolaidd ac anghyson. Ac eisoes yr anfonent filoedd ar filoedd o elynion i ymosod ar ein hynafiaid, gan fynnu mai hwynt-hwy oedd y gorau, oblegid mai dim ond yr Haul Llachar, eu Tad cariadus, sy’n rhoi bywyd, ac mai’r Lloer Oriog, cyfnither i’r Nw Yrth, na fydd ond yn adlewyrchu ei olau’n wan, gan ddrysu’r rhai fydd yn ei haddoli fel Mam.But at the same time the Seraphic Sorcerers, who had given themselves many names, needed to be fruitful, and cover the World with their offspring, and the Idolaters were already hateful to them, who hated everything irregular and inconstant. And already they sent thousands and thousands of enemies to attack our ancestors, insisting that they were the best, because it is only the Resplendent Sun, their loving Father, who gives life, and the Fickle Moon, cousin to the Nw Yrth, but reflects his light weakly, confusing those who worship her as Mother.
Wrth gwrs, fe fydd Tad pawb yn honni nad ydy’n gwybod dim byd yn enwedig am ddim byd o bwys ond dyddiau olaf ein Byd ni. Ond serch hynny, trwy chwarae yn hytrach na chynllunio, fe fydd wastad yn llwyddo i ennill y canlyniadau sydd orau i’r Nw Yrth. A rhaid cofio mai plant yr Haul ydym ni oll hefyd, sy’n rhwym wrth yr un gân er gwaetha’r ieithoedd a’r gweddau gwahanol, er nad yw rhai yn ein plith ni’n sylweddoli’r ffaith na’i chyfadde’.Of course, the Father of everyone will claim that he knows nothing in particular about anything of importance save the last days of our World. But despite that, through playing rather than planning, he will always succeed in accomplishing the results that are best for the Nw Yrth. And we must remember that we are all children of the Sun too, who are bound by the same song, despite the different languages and appearances, although some amongst us do not realise the fact nor admit it.
Drwy gydol ei araith, wrth i’r stori fynd rhagddi, roedd llais yr henuriad yn ei ŵn ysgarlad yn mynd yn arafach ac yn is, a chyda hynny o eiriau, o’r diwedd, fe syrthiodd i gysgu.Throughout his oration, as the story unfolded, the voice of the old one in his scarlet gown was growing slower and quieter, and with these words, at last, he fell asleep.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 4

Pennod Wyth: Myfyrio (Lleisiau 4) / Meditating (Voices 4)

Annwyl gyfeillion y Clinig! Ni fyddwn yn gorliwio pe dywedwn mai trin cysgodion yw fy ngalwedigaeth, fy mhroffesiwn, a’m pleser. Ac o ran y sefyllfa a adroddir yma, rwy’n gallu dweud, “Ar ffin y blanhigfa yr oedd cysgodion hir y pinwydd fel bysedd duon yn denu,” fel yr ysgrifennodd Alun T Lewis yn y stori fer ‘Colledion Rhyfel’. A dyna heb sôn am yr amrywiaeth helaeth o leisiau rhyfedd fydd yn hwylio trwy fy swyddfa sylweddol yma yn Neuadd y Murluniau o bryd i’w gilydd. Ac nid rhaid dweud mai lle â phob cyfleuster priodol ydy hwn hefyd.

Dear Friends of the Clinic! I would not be exaggerating if I were to say that dealing with shadows is my calling, my profession, and my pleasure. And in terms of the situation reported here, I can say, “On the edge of the nursery the long shadows of the pines were beckoning like black fingers,” as Alun T Lewis wrote in the short story ‘Casualties of War’. And that is without mentioning the extensive variety of strange voices which sail through my substantial office here in the Hall of the Murals from time to time. And needless to say, this is a very well-appointed place too.

Peth ofnadwy ydy y bydd rhaid inni gloi ein drysau maes o law o ddiffyg cyllid ar ôl marwolaeth ein noddwr hael ond anhysbys, yr Hen Filwr. Fe ddiflannodd pan oeddwn yn blentyn, ac am flynyddoedd crwydrai ef mewn gwledydd dros y môr, gan ymuno â’r fyddin (mae’n dweud), a theithio i bedwar ban byd i ddarganfod, neu ddyfeisio, gwybodaeth arloesol ynghylch hud geiriau a cherddoriaeth swynol. A thrwy’r amser, tra oedd ef i ffwrdd, roeddwn innau’n llafurio ac astudio, gan geisio cael deupen llinyn ynghyd. Teg dweud bod lleisiau wastad yn galw arno oddi mewn ac oddi allan, i gyflawni cryn ryfeddodau, yn ei farn o leiaf. It is an awful thing that we shall have to lock our doors in due course from a lack of funding after the death of our generous but unrecognised sponsor, the Old Soldier. He disappeared when I was a child, and for years he wandered in lands overseas, joining the army (he says), and travelling to the four corners of the world to discover, or invent, pioneering knowledge regarding the magic of words and beguiling music. And all the time, while he was away, I was labouring and studying, trying to make ends meet. It is fair to say that voices were always calling on him from within and from without, to accomplish considerable wonders, in his opinion at least.
Yn y pen draw, ar ôl dioddef lawer (felly yn ôl y stori), pan gronasai bentwr o arian trwy ei fentrau (ac wrth gwrs yr oedd yn gweithredu’n gyfreithlon bob amser, ac eithrio pan oedd yn chwarae'r llaw wen), daeth ef adref, ennill Tystysgrif mewn Astudiaethau (Doethur hyddysg ydwyf fi, fel y gwyddoch), a dod yn athro hunanddysgedig, heb reswm yn y byd hwn yn fy nhyb ostyngedig. Wrth gwrs, tra oedd e’n mwynhau’i hunan gormod, myfi oedd y gwir filwr, fel petai, a oedd yn brwydro dros wirionedd a chyfiawnder o ran y gorthrymedig a’r cystuddiedig, gan ddysgu yn ystod y broses gymaint am y meddwl dynol, ei hynodweddau, a’r gallu i brofi cyflyrau arbennig o ymwybyddiaeth. Ni ddaeth yr hen gnaf o hyd i hud go iawn erioed, er gwaethaf y datganiadau di-baid i’r gwrthwyneb, hyd yn oed ar ei wely angau.In the end, after suffering much (so the story goes), when he had accumulated a stack of money through his ventures (and of course he always acted legally, except when he was playing fast-and-loose), he came home, gained a Certificate in Studies (I am learned Doctor, as you know), and became a self-taught teacher, for no reason at all in my humble opinion. Of course, while he was enjoying himself so much, it was I who was the true soldier, so to speak, who was fighting for truth and justice on behalf of the downtrodden and the afflicted, learning in the process so much about the human mind, and its peculiarities, and the ability to experience special states of consciousness. The old rogue never found true magic, despite the incessant protestations to the contrary, even on his death-bed.
Fodd bynnag, wedi esbonio hynny oll, rhaid i ddyn gadw at y pwnc dan sylw. Gadwech imi ddweud felly nad endid unedol yw’r cysgod a deflir gan wrthrych estynedig, ond hanfod cymhleth – megis personoliaeth, megis perthynas, megis gwybodaeth – sy’n cynnwys wmbra neu barth hollol ddu, penwmbra neu ogysgod, sy’n rhannol ddu, a rhag-wmbra lle yr arddangosa’r gwrthrych leugylch llachar.However, having explained all that, one must keep to the topic under consideration. Let me say therefore that the shadow thrown by an extended object is not a unitary object, but a complex entity – like a personality, like a relationship, like information – which contains an umbra or totally black region, a penumbra or shade, which is partly dark, and an antumbra where the object displays a bright halo.
Yn y ddogfen hon rwy’n cyflwyno adroddiad llawn ar ein hachos mwyaf enwog, yn cynnwys popeth a drafodwyd ac ysgrifennwyd yn ein Clinig, yn ogystal ag adysgrifau o sawl sgwrs a ddigwyddodd yma. Yr wyf wedi ymbleseru hefyd mewn cynnwys rhai nodiadau esboniadol ar ben pob adran gan fy ysgrifennydd, Helen Grossmann MSc (y ‘darpar feddyliaethydd’ yn ôl ei geiriau ei hunan). Mae hi wedi darparu ar fy nghyfer rybuddion a syniadau eithriadol o gynorthwyol ar nifer o bynciau hanfodol. Yng ngoleuni’r sylwadau plaen hyn, mae arnaf angen eich hysbysu o’r dechrau fod ein dulliau syncretaidd, sy’n seiliedig ar freuddwydio a dychmygu, yn debycach i farddoni ac i fwrw hud nag i’r technegau rhesymegol gwyddoniaeth. Yma, personoliaethau amryfal, tirweddau wedi’u torri, a llif yr ymwybod, yw’r peth arferol.In this document, I present a full report on our most famous case, containing everything which was discussed and written in our Clinic, in addition to transcripts of several conversations which happened here. I have indulged myself also in including some explanatory notes at the head of each section by my secretary, Helen Grossmann MSc (the ‘prospective mentalist’ in her own words). She has provided me with exceptionally helpful warnings and ideas on a number of essential topics. In the light of these forthright observations, I need to advise you from the outset that our syncretic methods, which are based on dreaming and imagining, are more similar to poetry-making and casting spells than to the logical techniques of science. Here multiple personalities, fractured landscapes, and stream of consciousness, are the normal thing.
Yn wir, mae sawl cymeriad yn yr adroddiad hwn, yn ôl pob ymddangosiad. Yn bendant, bydd y penodau’n portreadu amryw leisiau’n cynnwys eiddo ddau lanc, merch, athro, tad a mam, milwr, cythraul, baban yn y groth, darlledwr teledu, meddyg, pyramid neu sigwrat, a bodolaethau o’r tu hwnt. Fe’u trefnwyd mewn modd sy’n gyffelyb i batrwm mathemategol hadau yn yr amryw fathau o bigyrnau benyw, gan ymdroelli o foth gyffredin i greu gwrthrych arallfydol a hypnotaidd. Gwnânt i gyd â gwe astrus, ym mha le y bydd yn chwarae rhan tarddleoedd sy’n bwrw goleuni ar ei gilydd, wrth greu cysgodion ar yr un pryd.In truth, there are several characters in this report, to all appearances. Definitely, the chapters portray various voices including those of two lads, a girl, a teacher, a father and mother, a soldier, a demon, a baby in the womb, a television broadcaster, a doctor, a pyramid or ziggurat, and beings from beyond. They have been arranged in a way that is similar to the mathematical pattern of seeds in the various types of female cones, spiralling out from a common hub to create an otherworldly and hypnotic object. They are involved in an abstruse web, in which they play the part of sources which cast illumination on each other, while creating shadows at the same time.
Yn yr adroddiad hwn, felly, bydd enwau’n dod i’r golwg a mynd o’r golwg yn gyson. Wrth gwrs mae’r Hen Lyfr yn dweud, “Beth yw dy enw? … Lleng yw fy enw; am fod llawer ohonom.” Ac ar adegau (neu, mewn rhai lleoedd), ceir Daud, Stjepan, Jelena, ac Ivan – yn rhywle arall, dyna Dave (Dai), Steffan (Steff, Stezza), Elen, a Jack – a hefyd, fe gwrddwch â David, Stevie, Helen, a John. Hyd yn hyn, yr wyf wedi bod yn sôn am gysgodion, lleisiau, ac enwau’n wir; ond rwy’n petruso ynghylch siarad am ddiawliaid yn y cnawd, er gwaethaf yr holl helbul i’w drafod (yn ogystal â’r daioni). Mater ichi yw derbyn neu beidio a yw'r fath bethau'n bodoli mewn gwirionedd.In this report, therefore, names appear and disappear constantly. Of course, the Old Book says, “What is your name? … My name is Legion, as we are many.” And on occasions (or, in some places), we have Daud, Stjepan, Jelena, and Ivan – elsewhere, there are Dave (Dai), Steffan (Steff, Stezza), Elen, and Jack – and also, you will meet David, Stevie, Helen, and John. Up to now, I have been speaking of shadows, voices, and names for sure; but I hesitate regarding talking about devils in the flesh, despite all the nastiness to be discussed (together with the goodness). It is matter for you to accept or not whether such things exist in reality.
Gyda’r holl gymhlethdod, rhaid gofyn: a allaf ddywed wrthych bwy yw pwy ar bob adeg? Na allaf, yn ddilys ddiamau – megis yn yr hen chwedlau Cymraeg, weithiau mae gwragedd yn flodau neu wdihŵiaid; ambell dro mae gwŷr yn dod yn eryrod, ceirw, bleiddiau, baeddod. Ac yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, gall menywod fod yn ewigod, ac yn binwydd, hefyd. Mae wastad hud a lledrith ym mhob man yn yr hanes hwn fel y mae bob tro yn y byd go iawn (pa beth bynnag a fo hwnnw), os medrwch ei glywed yn ddigon manwl. Yn ddiau, gweddnewidir y talpiau hyn o gnawd gan weithredoedd swynol, trwy enwi. Ni fedrant ddweud celwyddau, gan na wyddant y gwirionedd, ymddengys ar y wyneb. Ond, wedi archwilio’n fwy manwl, fe gyfeddyf dyn o bosibl yr adwaenant y gwir, ynteu na siaradant amdano gan eu bod yn fud. O’r herwydd, efallai, byddant yn celu pechodau o bob math, a ddatgelir yma o ganlyniad i’m cloddio, heb yn wybod iddynt eu hunain. Ewch ati’n ofalus, felly, pan ddewch chi i mewn i’r cysgodion fydd yn toddi a tholchennu fel trwyth yng nghrochan y Dewin.With all the complexity, one must ask: can I tell you who is who on every occasion? I cannot, most assuredly – as in the old Welsh tales, sometimes women are flowers or owls; sometimes men become eagles, deer, wolves, wild boars. And in the Heart of the Continent, women can be does, and pine-trees also. There is enchantment everywhere in this tale, as there always is in the real world (whatever that may be), if you are able to discern it accurately enough. Doubtless, these chunks of flesh are transmogrified by magical acts, through naming. They cannot tell lies, as they do not know the truth, it appears on the surface. But, having investigated in more detail, one confesses that possibly they do recognise the truth, but that they do not speak about it because they are mute. On this account, perhaps, they conceal sins of all kinds, which will be revealed here as a result of my delving, without their own knowledge. Go at it carefully, therefore, when you come into the shadows which melt and coagulate like tincture in the Magician’s cauldron.
A heb os nac oni bai, llawn cysgodion yw’r hanes dadlennol hwn, sef cysgodion camdriniaeth, unigrwydd, a cholled, ynghyd â chysgod ansicrwydd sy’n hongion tros y gallu i feirniadu y tu hwnt i amheuaeth resymol. Sut y gallai sawl gohebydd ymddangos mor hwyliog, felly, wrth adrodd y chwedlau hyn i gyd. am a welaf fi o’r nodiadau amgaeedig? Fodd bynnag, deall i ryw raddau a wnaf fi, gan mai myfi fy hunan fydd yn gwenu o glust i glust bob tro wrth weithio yn y madws hwn, yn enwedig pan fydd Swtach yn snecian i mewn i’r ystafell ymgynghori wrth imi bendwmpian, i gnoi fy mawd troed gowtog – yr hen gythraul blewog!And without doubt, this apocalyptic tale is full of shadows, namely the shadows of abuse, madness, loneliness, and loss, together with the shadow of uncertainty that hangs over the ability to judge beyond reasonable doubt. How could several appear so humorous, then, whilst reciting all these stories, as far as I can see from the enclosed notes? However, I do understand to some extent, as I myself grin from ear to ear all the time whilst working in this madhouse, especially when Swtach sneaks into the consulting room while I doze, to gnaw my gouty big toe – the old furry devil!
Eto i gyd, mae ein stori yn codi cwestiynau di-rif am y materion hyn; am hunan-anghofio a hunanddarganfod; am symbolau, delweddau, a realiti a sut y byddant yn rhyngweithio â’i gilydd, wrth holi am natur gwahaniaethau deuaidd megis goleuni a chysgod, gywir ac anghywir, da a drwg, rhesymu a theimlo, profi a gwybod, yr unigolyn a’r grŵp, yr ‘hunan’ a’r ‘arall,’ er enghraifft. Ond nid fy rôl i yw ateb y fath bosau, braidd y gallaf feddwl am y syniadau. Wedi’r cwbl rwy wedi blino’n lân ar ôl yr holl gyffro. Ni dderbyniaf fi byth ronyn o ddiolchgarwch yn y swydd hon, ychwaith. Soniaf mwyaf am hynny yn nes ymlaen, ond am y tro, rhaid cadw’n dawel.Then again, our story raises endless questions about these matters; about self-forgetting and self-discovery; about symbols, images, and reality and how they interact with each other, whilst inquiring about the nature of binary distinctions such as light and shadow, correct and incorrect, good and evil, logic and feeling, experience and knowledge, the individual and the group, the ‘self’ and the ‘other’, for instance. But it is not my role to answer such riddles, I can scarcely think about the ideas. After all, I am tired out after all the excitement. I never get a grain of thanks in this job, either. I shall speak more about that later on, but for the time being, I must keep quiet.
Mae cyfeirio yma (yn aml yn wallus) ar achlysuron, at ffynonellau llenyddol, ac at ddiwylliant poblogaidd, ond nid wyf wedi ceisio egluro: cysgodion y peth go iawn, allem ddweud, yw’r camgymeriadau a hepgoriadau. Hefyd, mae ychydig iaith fras, rwy wedi’i adael yn gyfan, er mwyn cyflawnder: pwy sydd â hawl i roi taw ar y llwyth o leisiau a fydd yn cyfathrebu yma, p’un a fyddant yn goeth ai ynteu’n aflednais? A pha beth yw llefaru heddiw beth bynnag ond cysgod gwelw'r canu hudol a fodolai gyfnod Tŵr Biblael – y tŵr ifori cysefin hwnnw – sydd wedi dod bellach yn ddim ond mwmial cymysglyd?There is reference here (often incorrectly), to literary sources, and to popular culture, but I have not attempted to clarify: shadows of the real thing, we might say, are the mistakes and omissions. Also, there is a little crude language, which I have left extant, for the sake of completeness: who has the right to silence the host of voices which communicate here, whether they be refined or otherwise vulgar? And what is speech today anyway but a pale shadow of the magical singing that existed at the time of the Tower of Biblael – that original ivory-tower – which has become by now but mixed-up mumbling?
Dyma’r defnyddiau crai. Ond rwy’n gorfod eich atgoffa y bydd pawb yn tueddu i ddioddef o’r un fath o bwysau i ryw fesur, ac o bryd i’w gilydd: pwy a ŵyr sut yr ymatebant? Cysgodion ein gilydd ydym ni i gyd, onid ife? I gloi, rwy’n holi: oes gwers i’w ddysgu o hyn oll? O’m profiad fy hunan, yr unig ateb y gallaf ei roi yw’r canlynol. Efallai gyda threigl amser fe fyddwn ni’n gweld y datblyga’r hunan, gan ymestyn i anwesu’r arall, a’i lapio i mewn i’w hanfod, nes y caiff eu gwahaniaethau sylfaenol – y rhai a ddaw rhyngof fi a ti, rhyngddi hi ac ef, rhyngom ni a chi – eu goresgyn mewn rhyw ffordd arwyddocaol a pharhaol. Dyna oedd gobaith yr Hen Dduwiau Rhyfedd, o leiaf, hyd y gwn i, a ofynnai: Onid rhannau’r un dilechdid trofaus yw damnio a gwaredu? Pwy, felly a all ddosrannu clod a bai? A ddylem farnu, neu, a ddylem gael ein barnu? Gadawaf i chi benderfynu — D.B.P.Here are the raw materials. But I must remind you that everyone will tend to suffer from the same kind of pressures to some degree, and from time to time: who knows how they will respond? We are all shadows of each other, are we not? To close, I enquire: is there a lesson to be learned from all this? From my own experience, the only answer I can give is the following. Perhaps in the fullness of time we shall see that the self will develop, reaching out to embrace the other, and wrapping it into its essence, so that their foundational differences – the ones that come between me and you, her and him, us and you – shall be overcome in some significant and lasting way. That was the hope of the Strange Old Gods, at least, as far as I know, who asked: Are not damnation and deliverance parts of the same contrary dialectics? Who, therefore, can apportion praise and blame? Should we judge, or, should we be judged? I shall leave you to decide — D.B.P.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 8-B

pic_lleisiau_04_diwedd_eng

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 5

Pennod Naw: Aberthu (Lleisiau 5) / Sacrificing (Voices 5)

Lleoedd o dywyllwch yw cysgodion, wedi’u creu’n berffaith naturiol gan oleuadau, y naill yn mynd law yn llaw â’r llall. Bydd y fath ffenomen yn digwydd pan atelir golau wedi’i gynhyrchu gan ryw wrthrych llachar, gan wrthrych afloyw. Lleinw’r cysgod yr holl gyfaint y tu hwnt i’r ail wrthrych, ac amlinell yw’r enw ar ei drawslun. Crea ffynonellau llydan o olau gysgodion aneglur; a sawl tarddle gwahanol yn agos at ei gilydd a all greu cysgodion cymhleth ac ynddynt liwiau. Golau a chysgod, da a drwg, tad a mab, dyfarniad ac achubiaeth, byw a marw – yr ydym ni ddynolryw wedi dyfeisio’r geiriau i fynegi’r gwahaniaethau deuaidd hyn oll. Bydd y cysyniadau hyn yn declynnau ardderchog ar gyfer dadleuon damcaniaethol, ond pa rai ohonynt fydd yn sylfaenol, ac yn ddilys, a, rhaid gofyn, o bwys, pan ddaw hi i’r pen?

Shadows are areas of darkness, created perfectly naturally by lights, the one going hand-in-hand with the other. This type of phenomenon occurs when light produces by some shining object is blocked by an opaque object. The shadow fills the whole volume beyond the second object, and its cross-section is called a silhouette. Wide light-sources create unclear shadows, and several different sources close together can create complex shadows with colours in them. Light and shadow, good and bad, father and son, judgement and salvation, life and death – we, humanity, have invented the words to express all these binary differences. These concepts are excellent tools for theoretical debates, but which ones are fundamental, and authentic, and, one must ask, important, when push comes to shove?

Mae dylanwad aelod ieuengaf Urdd Cyfrinachau wedi ymledu’n bellach nag y gallai fod wedi dychmygu. Er na chofiai’n berffaith yr hyn a oedd wedi digwydd ar ei daith arallfydol, aeth y siocdon fel tisian cawr dig trwy’r Ddau Fyd. Roedd rhywbeth oddi mewn i’r Hen Filwr yn ei orfodi i rodio’r Byd, ac yn hyn o beth, roedd yn debyg i aelodau diystyrllyd y Gydfrawdoliaeth Gwflog. Fe grwydrai’r gŵr castiog, y twyllwr afreolus hwnnw, tros wyneb y Ddaear, wrth i’r Dewin Ieuengaf weithio'i fysedd at yr asgwrn gartref (trwy ddi-stop ddarllen, ac arteithiedig fyfyrio, a llawer iawn o weithgareddau annisgrifiadwy eraill), ac er mai llawn heddwch oedd ei galon, mewn theori o leiaf, rhyfel a’i dilynai. Ac endid o’r enw Swtach, arglwydd yr anialwch, sydd yn casáu dysg, ac oedd wedi blino’n llwyr ar yr holl astudio, âi gyda fe wastad ac ym mhob man, heb ei weld ond nerthol, fel cysgod inciog drygioni, gan hau gwyntoedd er mwyn medi corwyntoedd â gwên greulon. Ond bob hyn a hyn byddai raid iddo fynd yn ôl i’w Blanet ei hun i daro i mewn i’r hen sigwratau i gael sgwrs gyda’r Hen Feistri.The influence of the youngest member of the Guild of Secrets has spread further that he could have imagined. Although he didn’t remember perfectly what had happened on his otherworldly trip, the shock-wave went like the sneeze of an angry giant through the Two Worlds. Something within the Old Soldier made him walk the World, and in this, he was similar to the despicable members of the Cowled Brotherhood. The wily man, that obstreperous trickster, wandered therefore over the face of the Earth, whilst the Youngest Magician worked his fingers to the bone at home (through non-stop reading, and tortured meditating, and very many other indescribable acts), and although his hara teas full of peace, in theory at least, war followed him. And an entity called Swtach, lord of the desert, who hates learning, and who had grown weary with all the studying, went with him always and everywhere, unseen but powerful., like an inky shadow of evil, sowing winds in order to reap whirlwinds, with a cruel smile. But every now and then he would have to come back to his own Planet to pop into the old ziggurats to have a chat with the Old Masters.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 5 extra image
Yn y prif sigwrat ar gyfandir deheuol y Nw Yrth, ymdaena trallod drostynt, y Saith Swynwr, fel petai’n rhyw faneg felfed, lac, a gais gyflawni’r weithred fydd yn angenrheidiol er mwyn cipio buddugoliaeth sarrug o enau trechiad. Ar draws gwagle na ellir ei bontio fel arfer, tyr dwndwr pwyllgor o leisiau meinion trwy sain ddi-dor argregyn trychfilaidd, a grafa’n fygythiol: “chep-er, chep-er, chep-er” —
“Felly, a ydy’r dychryn yn dod ar eu gwarthaf, ymhen yr hir a’r hwyr?”
“A ydy amser cystudd yn cyrraedd?”		In the chief ziggurat on the southern continent of the Nw Yrth, tribulation spreads itself across them, the Seven Sorcerers, as if it were some slack, velvet glove, which is trying to complete the act which will be necessary in order to seize sullen victory from the jaws of defeat. Over a void which cannot usually be bridged, the clamour of a committee of high-pitched voices cuts through the ceaseless sound of insectile carapaces, which are scraping threateningly -- “chep-er, chep-er, chep-er” —
“So, is the terror coming upon them, at long last?”
“Is the time of tribulation arriving?”
Ac ar y Ddaear, mae Swtach wedi bod yn gweithio’n galed iawn. Os bydd ei gynlluniau’n llwyddo, fe ddechreua rhyfel yng nghanol y cyfandir gogleddol sydd yn ffromi ers amser maith. Bydd yn wrthdrawiad erchyll, ac fe fydd teuluoedd a chymunedau’n cael eu gwahaniaethu ar sail iaith, crefydd, lliw croen, a chefndir ethnig, gyda meibion yn ymosod ar dadau, mamau’n poeri ar eu merched, cymdogion yn tanio tai’i gilydd, a ffrindiau bore oes yn lladd hen gymrodyr. Milwyr fydd yn brwydro hefyd, fel brawychwyr neu ymladdwyr dros ryddid, a’r gair yn dibynnu ar ba ochr fyddwch yn ei chefnogi. Ni fydd y naill garfan na’r llall yn ennill, ac efallai na fydd yn bosibl i neb drechu beth bynnag yn y pendraw, gyda’r ddwy ohonynt (os bydd dim ond dwy) yn cyflym ruthro i ddinistr llwyr, gan fynd â gweddill y Byd ganddynt.On the Earth, Swtach has been working very hard. If his plans succeed, a war shall begin in the middle of the northern continent which has been brewing for a long time. It will be a terrible conflict, and families and communities will be divided on the basis of language, faith, skin-colour, and ethnic background, with sons attacking fathers, mothers spitting in daughters, neighbours setting fire to each others’ houses, and life-long friends killing old comrades. Soldiers will be fighting too, as traitors or freedom-fighters, with the word depending on which side you support. Neither the one side nor the other will win, and perhaps it won’t be possible for anyone to prevail anyway in the end, with the two of them (if there are only two) rushing quickly towards complete destruction, taking the rest of the World with them.
Dyma un o’r soldiwrs honedig sy’n droseddwr cyson a deliwr cyffuriau ceiniog a dimai erbyn hyn. Yn y dyfodol, fe gaiff e ei lladd gan ffrwydrad o'i wneuthuriad ei hun, ond ar hyn o bryd mae’n dioddef o gyfergyd ar ôl cael ei guro bron hyd farw gan aelodau criw gwrthwynebol. Mae llygaid y dyn mor ddu â lympiau o lo, ac mae’n dal i ffroeni rhyw stwff sbeislyd, gwyn o’r tun bychan, tolciog mae’n mynd â fe o bant i dalar. Er gwaetha’i ddryswch, mae e’n sicr bod rhaid iddo weithredu’n gadarn, gan ddilyn y gorchmynion brawychus mae wedi’u derbyn gan yr awdurdodau arallfydol.Here's one of the would-be soldiers who’s a constant criminal and run-of-the-mill drug-dealer right now. In the future, he’ll be killed by an explosion of his own making, but now he’s suffering from concussion after being beaten almost to death by members of an opposing gang. The man’s eyes are as black as lumps of coal, and he keeps sniffing some white, spicy stuff from the tiny, battered tin he takes all everywhere. Despite his confusion, he sure that he has to act steadfastly, following the fearsome commands he’s received from the otherworldly authorities.
Er mwyn cyflawni’r dasg benodedig mae wedi dod â’r arfau arferol. Ond dyw e ddim ar ei ben ei hun: tad a mab sydd yma, Ishakí ac Adauvam o’r Hen Lyfr, ond heb gwmni colomen wen na chigfran ddu, sy’n llefaru â thafodau o dân, y tro hwn. Trwy wneud beth sydd ei angen, fe fydd yn dwyn y rhyfel oesol yn erbyn grymoedd y gwrthsafiad ar y Ddaear i ben unwaith ac am byth cyn i’r frwydr ddiweddara’ gychwyn yn ei filltir sgwâr, gan gipio’r wlad yn ôl i’r dyfodol. Puro’r tir a wnaiff. Cael gwared ar yr eilunaddolwyr. Achub y werin. Gadael ei farc ar hanes. A dyma’i feddyliau’n rhedeg yn wyllt —In order to complete the appointed task, he’s brought the usual tools. But he’s not on his own: there’s a father and son here, Ishakí and Adauvam from the Old Book, but lacking the company of the white dove or the black raven, which talk with tongues of fire, this time. By doing what’s needed, he shall bring the age-old war against the forces of the resistance on the Earth to and end once and for all before the latest battle begins in his back-yard, seizing the land back for the future. He’ll purify the ground. Get rid of the idolaters. Save the folk. Leave his mark on history. And here are his thoughts, running wild —
“Dyma fi’n llechu ar ‘mhen ‘yn hunan yn y cysgodion. Mae twll yn ‘y mhen i, gwyll yn ‘y nghalon. Gwacter drwydda i o’r corun i’r sawdl. Wastad mor unig. Nage. Fyddan nhw byth yn gadael llonydd i fi. Ddim yma, ddim nawr. Y lleisiau tu mewn i ‘mhen. Gwawdio. Arteithio. Cegau â gwaed arnyn nhw. ‘Mhersonoliaeth wedi’i harllwys i mewn i fwced.”“Here’s me lurking alone in the shadows. There’s a hole in my head, dark in my heart. Emptiness through me from head to toe. Always so lonely. No. They never leave me alone. Not here, not now. The voices inside my head. Mocking. Torturing. Mouths with blood on. My personality poured into a bucket.”
Mae’r holl dirwedd anial yn gorwedd dan gysgod porffor. Mae’n ymddangos mai rhyw greadur bach, lled ymwybodol, sydd yn y sach hesian wrth draed y dyn colledig, a’i ymennydd wedi’i ddrysu o ganlyniad i’r ergyd a fu bron â thorri ei benglog. Efallai mai dim ond ei ddychymyg ffrwythlon yw tarddle’r holl olygfa hon. Ond mae’r peth pitw’n ceisio gwingo, gan dynnu rhag ei rwymau garw, wrth i donnau o boen olchi drosto. Mae’n dychryn oherwydd prinder awyr iach, a’i gyhyrau wedi’u hanalluogi ag asid. Mae rhyw wichian yn dianc o’i wefusau trwy’r clwt brwnt wedi’i wthio i’w geg. Mae’r acolit eiddgar i’r cythreuliaid sy’n ansylweddol ond gwirioneddol iawn, yn cicio’r sach yn ddifeddwl, ac mae’r symud cychwynnol yn lleihau â sgrech fain.The whole desolate landscape lies under a purple shadow. It appears that there is some small half-conscious creature, in the hessian sack at the feet of the lost man, whose mind is fogged due to the blow that almost split his skull. Perhaps it’s just his fertile imagination that’s the source of this whole scene. But the pitiful thing’s trying to squirm, pulling against its rough bonds, whilst waves of pain wash over it. It’s agitated through lack of fresh air, and its muscles are incapacitated by acid. A little squeal escapes its lips through the dirty rag stuffed into his mouth. The ardent acolyte of the extra-terrestrial devils, who are insubstantial but very real, kicks the sack unthinkingly, and the incipient movement dampens with a shrill screech.
Ar y Nw Yrth, hongia’r sŵn, mor finiog â dagr o grisial, wedi’i grogi ag edefyn arian o alar yn yr awyr wenwynllyd. Ar yr un pryd, gorleinw bodau rif y tywod mân y safle rhithiol, ac y maent yn anweledig ac yn fud, ond yn bresennol serch hynny. Wedi cronni’i hunan fel llosgfynydd ar fin ffrwydro, dyma lais unigryw i’w clywed, sydd yn daer, awdurdodol, dwys, ac yn hawlio ymateb:
“Bydd rhaid aberth.”
“Pwy fydd yr oen i’w offrymu?”
“Pa beth fydd y bwch dihangol?”
Ac wedyn, heb saib, dyna saith llais yn cychwyn llafarganu’r hen weddi waharddedig o drawsffurfio ac ymgorffori, drosodd a throsodd:		On the Nw Yrth, the sound, as sharp as a crystal dagger, hangs suspended by a silver thread of grief in the toxic air. At the same time, beings as numberless as sand-grains stuff the spectral landscape, and they are unseen and mute, but present nevertheless. Having damned themselves up like a volcano about to explode, here a unique voice is to be heard, which is insistent, authoritative, intense, and which demands a response:
“A sacrifice is necessary.”
“Who shall be the lamb to be sacrificed?”
“What thing shall be the scape-goat?”
And the, without a pause, there’s seven voices beginning to chant the old forbidden prayer of transformation and incarnation, over and over:
“Khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi,”
“Cyn gynted ag y deuthum i fod, daeth bodolaeth i fod; daeth pob bod i fod ar ôl imi ddod i fodolaeth.”		“Khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi,”
“As soon as I came to be, existence came to be; every being came to be after I came into existence.”
Ar y Ddaear, mae ias drydanol yn rhedeg ar hyd asgwrn cefn y dyn gyda dechrau’r siantio: “Dw i’n gw’bod beth dw i i ‘neud, nawr a wastad. Ydw i’n barod? Nagw, dw i’m. Sa i’n barod o gwbl. Sa i’n gallu. Rhaid i fi. Y drws a’r allwedd dw i. Y ceidwad a’r ffordd. Dw i ‘di dysgu popeth o’r Hen Lyfrau. Gan ‘yn Meistri, gyda help y Mynachod Cwflog. Dyma ‘nhynged i. Maen nhw ‘di dweud pethau wrtho i. Siarad maen nhw. Dangos. Datgelu. Ac O, maen nhw’n gallu torri, a chnoi, a llarpio, a slaesio, a rhwygo. Rhaid i fi lwyddo.”On the Earth, an electrical shudder runs down the back of the man as soon as soon as the chanting begins: “I know what I’m doing, now and always. Am I ready? No, I’m not. I’m not ready at all. I can’t. I must. I am the door and the key. The keeper and the way. I’ve learned everything from the Old Books. From my Masters, with the help of the Cowled Monks. This is my fate. They’ve told me things. They speak. Show. Reveal. And, Oh, they can cut, and bite, and rend, and slash, and rip. I must succeed.”
 crych gwan trwy’r lluosogrwydd disgwylgar, y gynulleidfa ddiwahoddiad honno; efallai mai dim ond anadl y creigiau cignoeth ydy, ynteu’n hytrach ochenaid ddrewllyd o’r tir gwahanglwyfus. A dyna’r llais trallodus yn erfyn unwaith eto, a drachefn, mae’n cael ei ateb:
“Y ddewiniaeth ddaearol ddechreua’r ddefod!”
“Ni allwn ni weithredu heb gydsyniad!”
“Nyni a eilw am ateb!”		A weak ripple goes through the expectant multitude, that uninvited audience; perhaps it’s only the breath of the raw rocks, or rather a stinking sigh from the leprous ground. And then there’s the turbulent voice beseeching once again, and again, it is answered:
“The earthly enchantment starts the ceremony!”
“We cannot act without consent!”
“We demand an answer!”
A dyma’r gwas yn anwadalu. “Yr un unigryw dw i, yr un ddewiswyd ac yr un fydd yn dewis; fi fydd yn gollwng yr haint a’r lluoedd o sgarabiaid rheibus; fi fydd yn gwasgaru grymoedd anhygoel y Fall. Fi a ddaw’n Swynwr, gan chwalu’r Ddau Fyd. Yno i fe gaiff pob darogan ei wireddu! Myfi – fi – fydd yn cychwyn, trwy loes chwerwfelys, ddilyw na ellir ei argáu. Ac fel hyn fe fyddwn ni’n ennill y rhyfel – yn oes oesoedd – yn dragywydd – byth bythoedd!”And the servant vacillates: “The unique one am I, the one chosen and the one who choses; it is I who’ll loose the pestilence and the hosts of ravenous scarabs; I shall scatter the incredible forces of Perdition. I shall become a Sorcerer, disintegrating the Two Worlds. In me shall every prophecy be fulfilled! Me – I – shall begin, through bitter-sweet anguish, a deluge that cannot be dammed. And thus shall we win the war – forever and ever – eternally – for evermore!”
Wrth i’r byrdwn hwn – “Nyni a eilw am ateb,” a adroddir saith gwaith – orffen, dyma dalpiau tewion o absenoldeb wylofus yn hel at ei gilydd yn y groth wag o ectoplasm ar y maen aberthu yng nghanol lle diffaith deisyf. Cynydda’r gwasgedd afieithus, mwy nerthol na mellt, fyddai’n codi croen gŵydd ar y Swynwyr pe bai ganddynt groen i’w effeithio. A dyna gysgodion berwedig o ddimensiwn arall yn dod ynghyd, fel praidd esgyrnog o geffylau fampiraidd, ffyrnig, fflamllyd eu llygaid, ynghyd â haid ddialgar o gŵn gwynion cynddeiriog, cringoch eu clustiau.As this refrain – “We demand an answer,” repeated seven-fold – finishes, thick chunks of doleful absence gather in the empty ectoplasmic womb on the sacrificial stone in the middle of the desolate invocation-place. The rapturous pressure, more powerful than lightning, increases, which would give the Sorcerers goose-bumps if they possessed skin to be effected. And then boiling shadows from another dimension come together, like a tusked herd of vampiric horses, their eyes flaming, together with a vengeful pack of rabid white dogs, whose ears are red.
Amleda canhwyllau llygaid â’r dirgryniad uwchsonig sy’n rhwygo gwaetgelloedd (am fod gan rai o’r Swynwyr lygaid, a bod hylif o ryw fath yn cylchredeg trwy eu cyrff i gyd), a dyna ddechrau anterth symffoni wedi’i pherfformio i groesawu cyrraedd gorfoleddus Duwdodau enbyd, nas clywyd hyd yn hyn yn ein cyfanfyd. Ac ar ôl milenia o alltudiaeth, amlwg fydd eu dial.
“Nyni a eilw arnoch chi!”
“Y ni a eilw arnoch!”
“Nyni a eilw ar –”
“Y ni a eilw –”
“Nyni a –”
“Nyni –”
“Ni –”		Pupils dilate wuth the ultrasonic vibration that bursts blood-cells (since some of the Sorcerers have eyes, and fluid of some kind circulates through all their bodies), and then begins the zenith of a symphony performed to welcome the jubilant arrival of terrible Divinities, which has not been heard up till now in our universe. And after millennia of exile, their revenge shall be palpable.
“It is we who call upon you!”
“We who call you!”
“We who call on –“
“We wo call –“
“We who –“
“We –“
“Us –“
Fe’i rhoddir yn ei orwedd, y plentyn sydd eto’n ddi-nam (ar wahân i’r ffaith bu bron iddo beri i’w Mam farw wrth esgor arno), wedi’i rewi ag ofn. A dyna fe ar silff yn yr un ystum fel a disgrifir yn y Llawlyfr Hud a Lledrith dychrynllyd, ‘Sefer ha-Marot’, a gollwyd ers hydoedd maith ond sy wedi’i ddarganfod yn ddiweddar, megis trwy hudoliaeth. Ond nid ar y Ddaeary mae'r dewis blentyn yn bodoli ar hyn o bryd, wrth gwrs, nac ar y Nw Yrth ychwaith, ond yn y gofod rhwng y Ddau Fyd, yn yr amrantiad hwnnw rhwng y gorffennol a’r dyfodol, yn y bwlch beichiog rhwng dechrau a gorffen. Ac yno pob plentyn wedi’i gam-drin ydy, pob gŵr sydd o reidrwydd wedi rhoi’r gorau i ymddwyn yn ôl y moesau cymdeithasol arferol. Mae llaw ffawd yn hofran, gan ddisgwyl rhyddhau’r geiriau terfynol. Syllu mae offeiriad mwyaf amhrofiadol y Byd ar y lleoliad: rhyw seler ddiwaelod, neu dŵr heb dop iddo, efallai.He’s put to lie down, the as yet blameless child (apart from the fact that he almost caused his Mum’s death whilst giving birth to him), frozen with fear. And there he is on a ledge in the same posture as described in the terrifying Grimoire, ‘Sefer ha-Marot’, which has been lost for ages but which has recently been discovered, as if by magic. But it’s not on the Earth that the chosen child exists at present, of course, nor on the Nw Yrth either, but in the void between the Two Worlds, in that instant between the past and the future, in the pregnant gap between starting and finishing. And there he is every abused child, every man who of necessity has given up behaving according to the usual social rules. The hand of fate hovers, waiting the release of the final words. The World’s most inexperienced priest stares at the location: some bottomless cellar, or tower without a top, perhaps.
Goleuir gwep y dyn gan y wên wannaf i wibio trosto ers iddo ddianc o’i elynion gan esgus ei fod wedi marw. Ond yn anffodus iddo, mae’i wep, a’i gorff hefyd, yn wlyb domen gan waed, poer, chwys, a llysnafedd trwyn. A dyma’r dyn aflan yn mwmial ei fantrâu astrus, nas hailfywiogwyd gan anadl einioes ers cyn cof yn y niwl tragwyddol ar wawr amser. A dyma’i gorff yn ystumio wrth i hwrdd o gyffro lifo trwyddo. Saib, ac wedyn si, braidd yn anamlwg, sy’n atseinio trwy’r Ddau Fyd – y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth – wrth i hanes gloffi rhwng dau lwybr. Yn awr y gŵyr ef. Ie. Ie. Ie. Deirgwaith ie. Mae blas rhyddid bron ar ei wefusau, o’i ran ef ac o ran ei werin oll – y rhai arbennig. yr etholedig – ac awdurdod, trefn, purdeb, heddwch, sydd o’u blaenau –The man’s face is lit up by the weakest smile to flash across it since he escaped from his enemies pretending he’d died. But unfortunately for him, his face, and his body too, are soaked with blood, and spittle, and sweat, and snot. And then the filthy man mutters his abstruse mantras, which have not been revived by the breath of life since time immemorial in the eternal fog at the dawn of time. And his body distorts as a spasm of excitement flows through him. A pause, and then a hum, rather indistinct, echoes through the Two Worlds – the Earth and the Nw Yrth – as history wavers between two paths. Now he knows. Yes. Yes. Yes. Thrice yes. The taste of freedom’s almost on his lips, for himself and all his people – the special ones, the chosen – and authority, order, purity, peace, are in front of them –
Yn awr bydd yn digwydd. Yma. Y tu allan i’r bwthyn, mae’r awyr gleisiog, anfaddeugar, gyforiog o alaethau anhysbys, yn tywyllu, wrth i’r sêr, fesul un, diffodd, ar eu hunion, ac yn ddiwrthdro. Dyma gyrraedd Dydd y Farn a ofnwyd. A rhithiau gwancus yw’r saith cysgod byw, sydd bron â marw o chwant eneidiau. Ac yno fe fyddai popeth wedi gorffen (er na fyddai dyrchafael yr arwr hunan-benodedig wedi digwydd oherwydd ei halogedd), oni bai am un ffaith hanfodol arall. Anghywir yw geiriau’r ddefod mae’n eu bloeddio –Now it will happen. Here. Outside the cottage, the unforgiving, bruised sky, teeming with unknown griefs, is darkening, while the stars, one-by-one, go out, immediately, and irreversibly. The feared Day of Judgement arrives. And ravenous spectres are the seven living shadows, which are almost dying from want of souls. And there everything would have finished (although the ascension of the self-chosen saviour would not have taken place, due to his filthiness), were it not for one other, essential, fact. The words of the rite he’s bawling are incorrect –
“Kheper-i kheper kheperu kheper-kuy en kheperu em khepri kheperu em sep tepy,”
"Creawdwr popeth sydd wedi dod i fodolaeth wyf fi; a myfi a ddaeth i fod ar ffurf duw Khepri, ac ymffurfiais yn yr oes gysefin. Deuthum i fodolaeth ar lun Khepri, a myfi yw crëwr popeth a ddaeth i fod. Ymffurfiais gan ddefnyddio’r sylwedd hynafol, a myfi a wnaeth a llunio ei hun o’r defnydd a fu yn yr adeg gyntaf.”		“Kheper-i kheper kheperu kheper-kuy en kheperu em khepri kheperu em sep tepy,”
“The creator of all that has come into existence am I; and it is I who came to be in the form of the god Khepri, and I formed myself in the primal age. I came into existence in the image of Khepri, and I myself am creator of everything which came to be. I formed myself using the ancient substance, and it is I who made and formed himself from the material which was in the first-time.”
Dyna resyn o beth – i rai, efallai – on’d ife? Mae’r dyn byrbwyll, sy’n credu mai Eneiniog yr Hen Feistri ydy, wedi torri’r gorchymyn y bydd yn angenrheidiol ufuddhau iddo, “rhag i’r holl nerth erch droi yn erbyn y chwiliwr.” Ac ar ben hynny, dyna’r geiriau gwallus hefyd.That’s a pity – for some, perhaps – isn’t it? The rash man, who believes he’s the Old Masters’ Anointed One, has broken the commandment which it’s essential to obey, “lest the whole dread power turn against the seeker.” And on top of that there’s the incorrect words, too.
Dyma’r gyllell farus yn herciog ddisgyn wrth i’r Duwiau creulon sy’n llechu yn y dimensiynau ychwanegol y tu hwnt i fodolaeth farwol ddisgwyl. Ond, yn sydyn, dyna’r dagr rhydlyd yn gwingo fel pe bai’n byw ar wahân i’w driniwr, a dyna’r dyn yn torri ei hunan, yn hytrach na hala’r offrwm priodol i ebargofiant. A dyna waed yn llifo mewn afon wyllt yn erbyn cefndir cyn ddued â machlud didostur y Nw Yrth. A dyna’r dyn yn rhwystredig ubain a’i wyneb yn ecstatig a dieflig, bob yn eilwers. Heb yn wybod iddo, mae’r seremoni wedi llwyddo, mewn ffordd o siarad o leiaf, am fod ei floeddiau wedi agor llwybr anhysbys i’r Byd Arall, sy’n waharddedig fel rheol. Ac er na all y Swynwyr eu hunain groesi ar hyn o bryd, fe fydd eu dylanwad yn gryfach o lawer o hyn ymlaen.The greedy knife jerkily descends as the cruel Gods who are lurking in the extra dimensions beyond mortal existence, wait. But suddenly, the rusty dagger twitches as if it were alive separate from its wielder, and the man’s cutting himself, rather than sending the appropriate offering to oblivion. And blood flows in a wild river against a background as black as the Nw Yrth’s merciless sunset. And the man howls in frustration, and his face is ecstatic and devilish, in turns. Unbeknown to him, the ceremony has succeeded, in a manner of speaking at least, because his cries have opened an unknown path to the Other World which is usually prohibited. And although the Sorcerers themselves cannot cross at the present time, their influence will be much stronger from now on.
Y munud yma, holltir y tywyllwch ysgithrog gan drwst o daran digon i hollti’ch pen. Ym mhob man mae llewych fiolet a drycsawr osôn, ac mae beichio chwerthin rhai endidau annynol yn cythryblu holl ddeunydd y lle ffiaidd. Ac wedyn, dyma doddi amser a gofod.This minute, the tusked darkness is slashed by a peal of thunder sufficient to split your head open. Everywhere there’s a violet glow and the stink of ozone, and the bellowed laughter of some inhuman entities stirs up the entire fabric of the hateful place. And then, time and space dissolve.
Rhwygir personoliaethau’n ddarnau. Drysir achosiaeth yn yr un modd ag y tynnir drws oddi ar ei golfachau. Mae un person yn dod yn un arall. Wrth i’r cyfanfyd atseinio, dyn sy’n cymryd rhan plentyn, menyw a ymddengys fel gŵr, yr ifainc sy’n cyfnewid â’r henoed, ac fe ysgubir pob delwedd a adeiladwyd yn y dychymig â symbolau cyfarwydd gan realiti dychrynllyd y tu hwnt i ddisgrifiad. Mae pawb yn dod yn un, wrth i’r unigolyn ymddryllio fel teilchion o ryw ddrych hudol. Trawsffurfir y dirwedd yn llwyr. Ar y Nw Yrth, lle mae amser yn mynd heibio lawer cynt nag ar y Ddaear, mae pob peth o chwith. Ac yno plentyn a ddanfonwyd i wneud gwaith dyn.Personalities are rent in shreds. Causation is confounded the same way that a door is yanked off its hinges. One person becomes another. As the universe resounds, a man takes the part of a child, a woman appears like a man, the young change places with the old, and every image built in the imagination with familiar symbols is swept away by a fearsome reality beyond description. Everyone becomes one, as the individual shatters like fragments of some magic mirror. The landscape is transformed entirely. On the Nw Yrth, where time goes by a lot quicker than on the Earth, everything is out of synch. And there a child has been sent to do a man’s work.
O’r diwedd, fe derfynir y ddefod wrthun. Mae’r crwt yn y sach – beth bynnag fo ef erbyn hyn, ynteu ba le bynnag y bo, y pryd hwn – yn gweiddi petai’r byd ar ben, wrth i’w gyn-ddaliwr syrthio ar ben ei gorff rhwymedig, mewn lludded llwyr. Ac yno, yn ôl rheolau arferol y cosmos, fe ddylai rhywun fod wedi trengi – ond – ond – fe ddymunai’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, yn amgen. Ond er gwaethaf hynny, yr oedd porth i’r Byd Arall wedi cael ei agor, un na chaiff ei gau yn ystod oes y plentyn.At last, the repugnant rite is finished. The kid in the sack – whatever he may be by now, or wherever he may be at this time – is shouting as if the world were ending, as his former captor falls on top of his bound body, completely exhausted. And there, according to the normal rules of the cosmos, someone should have perished – but – but – the indolent Idolaters desired different. But despite that, a gate to the Other World had been opened, one which will not be closed during the child’s lifetime.
Wedi goroesi ar fympwy galluoedd y gwrthsafiad, saith bywyd hudol fydd yn aros i’w treulio eto gan y bachgen dan gyfaredd – ac efallai mai gwyn ei fyd yn wir. Ond nid hynny a fydd, er amcan ei grëwr, y Dewin Ieuengaf hwnnw, a oedd wedi cynllunio’r holl ystryw y tu ôl i’r llenni. Ac er na fydd y llanc yn cofio dim byd am y digwyddiadau hyn, fe fydd yn cael ei blagio gan hunllefau o hyn ymlaen. Ond wedi dweud hynny, nid y gorffennol fydd y broblem fwyaf, gan mai’r dyfodol a orletha bawb, yng nghyflawnder amser, mor sicr â bod bara mewn torth. Nid oedd y rhyfel ymhlith y gwahanol lwythau wedi’i osgoi, dim ond ei oroesi, ac fe fydd y Lleu Llaw Gyffes newydd-anedig hwn yn defnyddio ei gyfleoedd i fyw, fesul un.Having survived on the whim of the opposition forces, there are seven magical lives remain yet to be spent by the enchanted boy – and perhaps he might have a blessed life indeed. But this is not to be, despite the intent of his creator, that Youngest Magus, who had planned the whole ruse behind the scenes. And although the lad won’t remember anything about these events, he’ll be plagued by nightmares from now on. But having said that, it’s not the past that’ll be the biggest problem, since the future overwhelms everyone, in the fullness of time, as sure as eggs is eggs. The war between the different tribes had not been avoided, only postponed, and this newly-born Lleu Llaw Gyffes will use up his chances to live, one by one.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 6

Pennod Deg: Breuddwydio (Lleisiau 6) / Dreaming (Voices 6)

Mewn llên gwerin, ac mewn mytholeg, ‘ysbryd’ yw enw a roddir i enaid neu bersonoliaeth ddigorff bod marw, a all ymddangos i’r rhai sy’n byw eto. Yn fwy cyffredinol, mae’r gair yn cyfeirio hefyd at unrhyw endid anghorfforol, da neu ddrwg, yn aml sydd â galluoedd eithriadol, neu bwerau hudol, na reolir gan ddeddfau natur arferol. Cododd cred yn y rhithiau hyn, sydd yn debyg i gysgodion bywiog i ryw raddau, o animistiaeth ac addoli hynafiaid mewn diwylliannau cyn-lythrennog. Y dyddiau hyn, pobl sy’n credu yn y goruwchnaturiol a’r paranormal, unigolion sy’n defnyddio (neu’n camddefnyddio) cyffuriau neilltuol, neu’r rhai sy’n lluddedig neu dan bwysau emosiynol dwys, sydd, yn ddigon aml, yn dod i ystyried mai creaduriaid byw, ysbrydion, neu endidau annynol, yw cysgodion. Hyd yn oed heddiw, mae amryw fathau o ddefod grefyddol yn bodoli, yn ogystal â seremonïau hudol, a ddefnyddir i fwrw allan ysbrydion aflonydd a chythryblus ar ffurf cysgodion.

In folk-lore, and in mythology, ‘spirit’ is the name given to the soul or disembodied personality of a dead being, which can appear to those who are still alive. Thre word also refers more generally to any incorporeal entity, good or evil, often with extraordinary abilities, or magical powers, which is not bound by the normal laws of nature. Belief in these spectres, which are similar to animated shadows to some degree, arose from animism and ancestor-worship in pre-literate societies. These days it is people who believe in the supernatural and the paranormal, individuals who use (or misuse) particular drugs, or those who are exhausted or under intense emotional pressure, who, often enough, come to consider that shadows are living creatures, spirits, or non-human entities. Even today, there exist various kinds of religious rite, as well as magical ceremonies, which are used to cast out restless and troublesome spirits in the form of shadow.

[Daud] Yr amser ‘na, ‘to, O diar! Chwe blwydd oed, Daud bach. Ac unwaith ‘to, rwyt ti’n ymladd i’w hyrddio nhw yn ôl, y rhai fyddai’n d’alltudio di i’r gwely dychrynllyd, fel rwyt ti ‘di ‘neud drosodd a throsodd. Dwy’r nos bydd y gwely ‘ma’n dy garcharu di, gwely sy 'di mynd yn borth yn arwain bob tro i’r un gors ddrycsawrus, yn berwi o arswydau tewion, llysnafeddog. Deg o’r gloch: rhy hwyr o bell ffordd. O’r diwedd mae dy rieni rhwystredig, sy’n lluddedig a llawn gofidiau, yn dy orchfygu di. Diolch byth, maen nhw’n dweud dan eu dannedd, wrth groesi’u bysedd. Mae plu’r cwilt llaith yn pigo dy groen, fel ‘sai celain drwm, oer, llawn pryfed chwannog am gnoi, wedi’i thaenu drosot ti. Dyna ddiffodd y golau, ac maen nhw’n dy adael ar dy ben dy hunan gan ddweud y ‘Duwiau a’th fendithio’ ola’ fel ‘sai’n felltith, a dyna daranu dy guriad calon yn y tywyllwch.[Daud] That time again, Oh dear! Six years old, Daud boy. And once again, you’re fighting to push them back, the ones who would exile you to the horrible bed, like you’ve done over and over. Through the night this bed’ll be imprisoning you, a bed that’s become a gate, always leading to the same stinking bog, boiling with fat, slimy terrors. Ten o’clock: too late by a long chalk. Finally, your frustrated parents, who are exhausted and full of worries, overcome you. Thank goodness, they say under their breath, whilst crossing their fingers. The damp quilt’s feathers prick your skin, as if a cold, heavy corpse full of insects eager to gnaw, had been spread across you. The lights are put out, and they leave you alone, saying the last ‘Gods bless you’ as if it were a curse, and there’s your heart-beat thundering in the darkness.
[Stjepan] Ie, dyna ti, fachgen da, O gannwyll fy llygad, ‘yn Stjepan i, ‘y nyn bach mawr – medd Mam. Ww, mae hi’n taflu cysgod maith ar fy mywyd oll! Sa i’n gallu mynd mas. Rhaid i fi aros yn y tŷ, astudio, dysgu. Dw i 'di bod yn tynnu pethau oddi wrth ei gilydd bob amser ers i fi fod yn faban, medd Mam. Wastad yn gofyn cwestiynau. ‘Sdim syndod dyn nhw ddim yn gwybod be’ i ‘neud â fi, a fi’n tyfu lan mor glou, yn brwydro yn erbyn y cryts eraill drwy’r amser. A dyma fi’n ‘neud y fath lanast ym mhobman. O, peri cryn bryder iddyn nhw dw i. Dyw Mam ddim yn yfed diodydd meddwl ond unwaith yn y pedwar amser, ond fi sy’n hala hi’n wallgo'. A dw i mor flinedig o ganlyniad i’r trafferthion ‘ma i gyd![Stjepan] Yes, there you are, good boy, O apple of my eye, my Stjepan, my big little man – says Mam. Oooh, she casts a long shadow over my whole life! I can’t go out. I have to stay in the house, study, learn. I’ve always been pulling things apart since I was a baby, says Mum. Always asking questions. It’s no surprise they don’t know what to do with me, and I’m growing up so quick, fighting with the other kids all the time. And I make such a mess everywhere. O I do cause them real worry. Mum only drinks alcoholic beverages once in a blue moon, but I drive her mad. And I’m so tired as a result of all these problems.
[Daud] Siawns na fyddai’n fwy saff ‘set ti’n turio i lawr, ‘achan, o dan haen ar haen o lenni ar y gwely simsan, i’r siglen fawn ar ei waelod, achos taw chreadur gwelw, gwan, dall wyt ti – lleuen noeth, ddiamddiffyn – y bili benji sy’n pesychu a chwato. Ti’n methu anadlu – dy sinysau mor orlawn â charthffosydd y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg – paid trio defnyddio dy drwyn di – ti’n mogi – rho gynnig ar agor dy geg di – mor dwym ydy nawr i lawr fan ‘yn. Fe gaiff Huwcyn Lonydd fynd i Swtach! Dyma ti ar y ffordd i’r Uffern. A ti’n disgwyl y llaw anochel yn ei maneg ledr, fydd yn ymddangos o ddim ac wedyn dy daro di’n anymwybodol heb i ti allu ei osgoi.[Daud] Perhaps it’s be more safe if you burrowed down, mate, under layer upon layer of sheets on the wobbly bed, into the peat bog at the bottom, ‘cos you’re a blind, weak, pale creature – a defenceless, naked louse – the runt who’s coughing and skulking. You can’t breathe – your sinuses are as full as the sewers of the Big, Bad City – don’t try to use your nose – you’re suffocating – have a go at opening your mouth – it’s so warm now, down ‘ere. Sandman be damned! Here you are on the way to Hell. And you’re waiting for the unavoidable hand in its leather glove, that’ll appear from nowhere and then knock you unconscious without you being able to avoid it.
[Stjepan] Sa i’n lico’r plantos bach eraill, sa i’n debyg iddyn nhw, maen nhw’n weud, dim o gwbl, un od, dyna’r gair. So Dad yn dweud lot, ydy e, ta be’, dim ond syllu arna i, er fod e ddim yma ran fwya’r amser. Mae wastad bant yn gweithio, dyna beth Mam yn ddweud. Rhaid i fi fod yn fachgen da, defnyddio’n noniau, osgoi gwastraffu amser, a chael hwyl. Dw i angen peidio cael ‘y mabanu cymaint, ond dw i’n mynd ar gyfeiliorn mor aml, gan grwydro oddi ar y llwybr union, a gadael i’n meddyliau i grwydro. Sa i eisiau cael ‘y nhaflu i gysgod rhyw blentyn drewllyd arall, dw i? Nagw, nagw’n wir! ‘Swn i mas, yn mynd i gwmni drwg, chwarae â’r plant direidus sy’n byw dros y ffordd – wedyn fe fyddwn i’n mynd yn ddiawl bach ewn, yn gymwys fel nhw, ac elwn i i helynt, yn y diwedd. Gallwn i gael ‘y nhemtio; wedyn ‘nelwn i ddrwg, fe allwn i hyd yn oed bechu’n ddifrifol![Stjepan] I don’t like the other little children at all, I’m not like them, they say, not at all, an odd one, that’s the word. Dad doesn’t say a lot, does he, anyway, just stares at me, although he’s not here most of the time. He’s always off working, that’s what Mum says. I’ve got to be a good boy, use my talents, avoid wasting time and having fun. I don’t want to be babied so much, but I go wrong so often, wandering off the straight and narrow, and letting my thoughts wander. I don’t want to be overshadowed by some other stinky child, do I? No, no indeed! If I were out, getting into bad company, playing with the cheeky kids who live across the road – then I’d become a cheeky little devil, exactly like them, and I’d get into trouble, in the end. I could be tempted, then I’d do wrong, I could sin grieviously, even!
[Daud] Felly – faint yn hwyrach? Mae’n ymddangos bod amser wedi arafu a stopio. Rwyt ti’n gorwedd ar y slab llyfn wedi’i ‘neud o fetel du, neu o lechfaen llachar, falle? Purddu ydy, yma yn y dyfnderoedd – wastad mor oer – tywyllwch rhewllyd – so ti’n gallu symud dy ben di i weld pwy sy ‘na – be’ maen nhw’n ‘neud. Mae’n niwlog ‘ma, a ti’n hanner dall – mae dy lygaid di’n goch, llidus, a gludiog. Hnnnnnn – ti’n brwydro’n ffyrnig – ti’n mynd yn sownd mewn pwll o ofn, ac yno mae rhyw law chwyslyd yn dy dagu di, wrth i gyllell dy drywanu di ar yr un pryd. Ti’m yn gallu gweld o gwbl, ac yn y lle ‘ma dallineb yw gwyll tragwyddol, ble mae’r Angau’n byw, yn barod i dy arwain di’n syth i’r Byd Arall![Daud] So – how much later? It appears that time has slowed down and stopped. You’re lying on the smooth slab made of black metal, or from polished slate, maybe? It’s jet-black, here in the depths – always so cold – freezing darkness – you can’t move your head to see who’s there – what they’re doing. It’s foggy here, and you’re half-blind – your eyes are red, sore, and sticky. Hnnnnnn – you’re fighting fiercely – you’re getting stuck in a pit of fear, and there there’s some sweaty hand choking you, while a knife stabs you at the same time. You can’t see at all, and in this place, blindness is eternal night, where Death lives, ready to lead you straight to the Other World.
[Stjepan] Sa i eisiau bod yn blentyn amhosib ei reoli, fydd yn cael ‘yn ymwahanu â Mam. Wi’n teimlo mor ddrylliedig, wi’n gw’bod mod i’n pechu, alla’ i’m peidio. Dw i angen gweithio’n galed, bwrw ati i ennill y dyfodol wi’n haeddu – llais Mam yn siarad naw -- yn enwedig achos bod rhaid i ‘Nhad fynd bant i deithio drwy’r amser, gan adael i ni ar ein pennau’n hunain. Be’ dw i eisiau bod, ‘te? Wwww – plismon, nyrs, dyn tân, gyrrwr ambiwlans? Wn i’m yn sicr a allwn i ddibynnu arna ‘yn hunan i ‘neud pethau’n iawn ‘sai’r sefyllfa’n fater o fywyd a marwolaeth. ‘Sdim lot o hunanhyder sy ‘da fi, medd yr athrawon, dyna’r peth, on’d ife? Athro falle, te?[Stjepan] I don’t want to be an unruly child, who’ll be taken away from Mam. I feel so wrecked, I know I sin, I can’t not do. I need to work hard, keep on at it to achieve the future I deserve – Mam’s voice speaking now – especially ‘cos my Dad has to go off travelling all the time, leaving is on our own. What do I want to be, then? Oooooh – policeman, nurse, fireman, ambulance driver? I don’t know for sure whether I could depend on myself to do things right if the situation was a matter of life and death. I don’t have a lot of self-confidence, say the teachers, that’s the thing, isn’t it? Teacher perhaps, then?
[Daud] Bob tro, bob nos, fil o weithiau, yr un ar ôl ei gilydd – yr un lleoliad – ward lawfeddygol ble mae popeth wedi’i ‘neud o fetel – neu falle fod di ar allor o faen, ddu, sy’n wlyb ac oer – O Dduwiau Cwsg – pam ti ‘di troi’ch cefnau arna i? Ac rwyt ti’n ddall – ond ti’n gallu synhwyro dy hunan, yno, yng nghrombil y Ddaear – heb lygaid a gwan – a ti’n gwybod fod e’n mynd i ddigwydd – ti’n aros – yn boddi mewn tonnau o banig – ti ‘di mynd yn sownd, mae pinnau bach trwy dy gorff i gyd – dere ‘mlaen ‘te ‘achan – tynna dy hunan lan – coda dy ben di – dim ond tamaid bach, bach – ti’n crefu – dim ond un amrant – ‘set ti ond gallu gweld, falle byddet ti’n gallu ‘neud rhywbeth – plis – na – ond mae’n digwydd – bwria di ati, w – hnnn-nnnnn – dim stŵr – mud a dall a byddar – ti’m yn gallu anadlu – ti’n trio sgrechian a llefain, ond dim sŵn sy’n dod mas.[Daud] All the time, every night, a thousand times one after the other – the same location – a surgical ward where everything’s made of metal – or perhaps you’re on an altar of black stone, that’s wet and cold – Oh Sleeping Gods – why have you turned your backs on me? And you’re blind – but you can sense yourself, there, in the bowels of the Earth – eyeless and weak – and you know that it’s going to happen – you’re waiting – drowning in waves of panic – you’ve got stuck, there’s little pins through your entire body – come on then, mate – lift yourself up – raise your head – only a tiny little bit – you plead – just one eyelid – if only you could see – perhaps you could do something – please – no – but it’s happening – keep at it, mun -- hnnn-nnnnn – mute and blind and deaf – you can’t breathe – you’re trying to screech and cry but no sound’s coming out.
[Stjepan] Dylet ti fod yn ddeintydd – llais Mam eto, er bod hi’n dweud llawfeddyg y geg bob amser. Swydd dda, gyrfa dda yw hi, wi’n deall hynny, llawer o arian, statws, pensiwn, popeth sy’n dda, yr holl beth. Ond byddai’n gas ‘da fi orfod edrych i mewn i gegau pobl, drwy’r dydd, bob dydd! Beth amdanoch chi? Wn i ddim, wir, w! Alla i ddim dychmygu tyfu lan, ennill arian ta be’. Sa i’n credu mod i’n ddigon deallus, ond dw i byth yn siŵr amdani. Wi'n astudio’n galed iawn, sbo, gobeithio ta be, fe ddylwn i lwyddo, dyna’r ffordd i lwyddo. Wedyn, fe gân nhw weld, y bwlis ‘na i gyd![Stjepan] You should be a dentist – Mum’s voice again, although she always says dental surgeon. It’s a good job, a good career, I understand that, lots of money, status, a pension, all the good stuff, everything. But I’d hate having to look into people’s mouths all day, every day! What about you? I dunno, really, mun! I can’t imagine growing up, earning money anyway. I don’t believe that I’m clever enough, but I’m never sure about it. I’m working very hard, s’pose, hope so anyway, I should succeed, that’s the way to succeed. Then they’ll see, all those bullies!
[Daud] So ti’n gallu gweiddi – fydd sŵn ddim yn dod ond ti’n gw’bod be sy’n digwydd – a dyma’r maen, sy’n hongian rhwng daear a nef, yn dechrau dod i lawr oddi uchod – mor ofnadw' o araf – hyd yn oed yn arafach na’r creaduriaid bychain arafaf sy’n llusgo ar lawr ar eu boliau – a dyna ti’n gweddïo – O, Dadau – os gwelwch chi’n dda – Duwiau a’m cartho fi – gadewch i fi fynd – bydda i’n wir dda, wi’n addo – wi’n tyngu – na – na! Dall wyt ti – ti’n ffaelu ‘neud yr un sŵn – ti’n methu symud un gewyn – hnnnnn-nnnnnn – ti’n brwydro – ddim yn medru symud – a dyna ddisgyn y maen aruthrol, gwastad i’r dim, duloyw – gan d’wasgu di yn llwch – ac felly yr ei di.[Daud] You can’t shout – sound won’t come – but you know what’s happening -- and there’s the stone that’s hanging between earth and heaven, beginning to come down from above – so awfully slowly – even slower than the slowest little creatures that slither down there on their bellies – and you’re praying – Oh, Fathers – if you see fit – Gods help me – let me go – I’ll be really good, I promise – I swear – no – no! You’re blind – you can’t make a single sound – you aren’t able to move one sinew -- hnnnnn-nnnnnn – you’re fighting – can’t move – and there’s the enormous, perfectly flat, jet-black stone, descending – crushing you to dust – and so you perish.
[Stjepan] Rywbryd yn y dyfodol fe fydd yn rhaid i fi briodi a magu teulu. Wi’n dymuno mod i ddim mor swil, wi eisiau ymuno â’r cryts eraill, a chwarae da nhw. Wi’n teimlo mor dwp, mor unig, yn hollol ar wahân. Wel, gallwn i fod yn ‘ffeiriad i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang, ond fyddai ddim yn bosib i fi ofalu am ddim ond plwyf gwledig ymhell o bobman. Byddwn i’n casáu mynd yn sownd, ffaelu meddwl, methu gwella yn ‘y ngwaith.[Stjepan] Sometime in the future I’ll have to get married and raise a family. I wish I wasn’t so shy, I want to join in with the other kids, and play with them. I feel so stupid, so lonely, totally separate. Well, I could be a priest in the World-Wide Church, but it wouldn’t be possible for me to look after just a country parish far from anywhere. I’d hate to get stuck, to stop thinking, not be able to improve in my work.
[Daud] Ond – aaaaa – erbyn hyn – y staer droellog – ymhellach i lawr – ti’n mynd i’r Pwll Diwaelod – bachgen drwg – pechadur wyt ti – sy ‘di ‘neud y pethau gwaethaf – ti’n trio troi oddi wrth ben anochel y daith – trio mynd yn ôl – tuag at i lan – ond dyna’r staer yn mynd yn llwybr llithrig. Ti’n cydio yn y canllaw, sy’n tynnu’i hunan ymaith, a dyna ti’n cwympo, yn llithro i lawr, i lawr, wastad yn nes at y lle so ti eisiau mynd yno. A dyna ti’n rhuthro tuag – tuag ato fe.[Daud] But – aaaah – now – the spiral staircase – further down – you’re going to the Bottomless Pit – you’re a bad boy – a sinner – who’s done the worst things – you’re trying to turn away from the journey’s inevitable end – trying to go back – upwards – but the stairs’re becoming a slippery slope. You grab the hand-rail, which pulls itself away, and you’re falling, sliding down, down, always closer to the place don’t want to go to. And you’re rushing towards – towards him.
[Stjepan] Fe fyddwn i eisiau gweithio a gweithio – ac www, meddyliwch am Gadfridogion yr Eglwys Filwrol, gogoneddus mewn ysgarlad, wrth iddyn nhw ymgynghori a dadlau Duwiau a Chythreuliaid, da a drwg. ‘Sai’r Rhai Hollalluog yn dymuno, gallwn i gael ‘yn etholi fel y Prif Offeiriad ei hunan yn y pendraw, er mod i ddim yn credu mod i’n ddigon glân; felly sut allwn i ddweud wrth yr holl bechaduriaid eraill beth i’w gredu, neu sut i fihafio, neu beth ddylen nhw ‘neud bob tro.[Stjepan] I’d need to work and work – and Ooooh, think about the Generals of the Martial Church, glorious in scarlet, as they consult and debate Gods and Demons, good and evil. If the Almighty Ones wished it, I could get elected as the Chief Priest himself in the end, although I don’t believe I’m holy enough; so how could I tell all the other sinners what to believe, or how to behave, or what they should do all the time.
[Daud] Ti ar dy ben dy hunan nawr, felly, w, gyda fe – ac mae e mor agos, mor araf – ac mae’n gwisgo gŵn â chwcwll – cwfl o frethyn llwyd, trwchus, stiff, sy’n frifo fe bob tro mae’n symud – ac mae’n aros yno, yn disgwyl amdanat ti – ffurf gripledig, a chloff, a chefngrwm – a dyna fe’n clywed oglau dy ofn di – yn snwffian er gwaetha’i ddallineb – ac fe’n – gwybod – deall – popeth yn dy gylch di – mae’n bwydo ar dy gamweddau di – drwy’r amser – cyn iddo fe ddatgelu’i hunan – er fydd e ddim yn dod i nôl di ei hunan – dim ond disgwyl a 'naiff – a ti sy wastad yn cael dy orfodi i fynd i lawr ato fe – bob amser – a dyna ti’n cyfri erbyn hyn i drio arafu amser, i geisio gohirio'r peth sy’n mynd i ddigwydd, fydd yn anorfod yn y pendraw.[Daud] You’re on your own now, then, mun, with him – and he’s so close, so slow – and he’s wearing a gown with a cowl – a cowl of stiff, heavy, grey cloth, that hurts him every time he moves – and he’s waiting there, expecting you – a crippled, lame, hunch-backed figure – and he smells your fear – snuffling despite his blindness – and he – knows – understands – everything about you – he’s feeding on your misdeeds – all the time – before he reveals himself – although he won’t come to fetch you himself – he’ll just wait – and it’s you who always gets forced to go down to him – always – and there you are counting now to try and slow down time, to try and postpone the thing that’s going to happen, that’ll be unavoidable in the end.
[Stjepan] Be’ am wleidyddiaeth? Llais Dad y tro hwn, ac mae’n isel, ond cryf a dwfn – a bygythiol. Prif weinidog fyddai swydd heb ei hail, tybio. Estyn cymorth i bobl, i gymdeithas, ‘neud pethau da. Bywyd anrhydeddus a llawn daioni, yn gwasanaethu’r werin a’r wlad, dyna fe, reit? Dwi’m yn malio’r un ffeuen ym mri, ond ar y llaw arall, peth pwysig yw’ch enw da. Ond swil iawn dw i, rhy swil a bod yn onest. Dim ond defnyddio’r talentau roddodd yr Hen Dduwiau i fi dw i’n moyn. Be bynnag, fe ddylwn i gael gyrfa sefydlog maes o law, fe ddylwn i briodi, cael ‘y nghryts ‘yn hunan. Ond a bod yn onest, y gwir gwestiwn yw, ddim fydda i’n cyrraedd y brig erioed, ond yn hytrach, fydda i’n dal i fod ar wyneb y Ddaear hon ymhen ychydig o flynyddoedd, heb sôn am fod yn fyw ac yn iach?[Stjepan] What about politics? Dad’s voice this time, and it’s quiet, but strong and deep – and threatening. Prime Minister would be a smashing, I guess. Giving support to people, to communities, doing good things. An honourable life, full goodness, serving the people and the land, that’s it, right? I don’t give a damn about fame, but on the other hand, your good name’s an important thing. But I’m very shy, too shy to be honest. I only want to use the talents the Old Gods have given me. Anyway, I should have an established career in due course, I should get married, have my own kids. But to be honest, the real question is, not will I ever get to the top, but rather, will I still be on the face of this Earth in a few years’ time, not to mention being alive and well?
[Daud] Miliwn o gamau – naw cant naw deg naw mil naw cant naw deg naw o gamau – Na – na – dwy ti’m yn moyn 'neud e – so ti’n gallu 'neud e – ti’n pallu 'neud e – rhaid i ti 'neud e – na – mae arnat ti angen. A dyna ti, ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr, yn gorfod edrych – edrych lan – a dyna gwympo’i gwcwll oddi ar – oddi ar – ei ben e – dro ar ôl tro – a dyna syrthio’r cwfl – O, mor araf – bod yn dipyn – a ti’n weld e – na, na, na – teirgwaith na, ti’n nadu – na, eto – a’i ben e’n belen ddychlamol lawn cynrhon – ac maen nhw’n gwingo – wrth haffio’u hunain a’i gilydd – a dyna nhw’n plopian at y fantell front – cyfoglyd ydyn nhw, mae’n ddigon i godi pwys arnat ti – yr holl ddrewdod braen, a’r pen erchyll ‘na, heb drwyn, na cheg, na chlustiau, na llygaid. A dyna ti’n cicio, a sgrechian, gan gorddi â'th freichiau a'th goesau.[Daud] A thousand steps – nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine steps – No – no – you don’t want to do it – you can’t do it – you refuse to do it – you have to do it – no – you need to. And, at long last, you have to look – to look up – and his cowl’s falling from – from – his head – time after time – and the cowl’s falling – O, so slowly – bit by bit – and you see him – no, no, no – three times no, you’re braying – no, again – and his head’s a pulsing ball full of maggots – and they’re writhing – whilst gobbling themselves and each other up – and they plop onto the dirty gown – they’re sickening, it’s enough to make you heave – the whole putrid stench, and that terrible head, without a nose, or mouth, or ears, or eyes. And you kick, and screech, threshing your arms and legs about.
[Stjepan] A fi, wel – rho fendith arna i, ‘Nhadau, achos mod i wedi pechu – dyma’r holl bethau drwg wi’n dal i’w ‘neud, sa i’n gallu stopio, O Wezir a’m helpo! Mae arswyd arna i, wi’n moyn bod yn berson arall, nage fi fy hunan rhagor. Be ddylwn i ‘neud? Wi’n suddo’n ddyfnach i bechu. Www – wi’n gallu gwyntio'r llynnoedd o frwmstan, blasu cnawd y damnedigion wedi’i farbeciwio. Fe fydd y dyn sy eisoes wedi derbyn rhywfaint yn derbyn mwy; ond amdano fe sy heb dderbyn dim, bydd hyd yn oed beth mae’n ei feddu’n cael ei gymryd oddi arno fe. A dyma fi ar ‘yn ffordd i’r Isfyd, felly.[Stjepan] And I, well – bless me, My Fathers, as I have sinned – here are all the bad things I still do, I can’t stop, o Wezir help me! I’m terrified, I want to be someone else, not myself any more. What should I do? I’m sinking deeper into sin. Oooh – I can smell the lakes of brimstone, taste the barbecued flesh of the damned. The man who’s already received something will get more; but as for him who’s received nothing, even what he possesses shall be taken away from him. And here I am on my way to the Otherworld, then.
Wedyn, yn ôl at fyd Daud – a dyma ddigwydd tranc arall – wedi’i ddilyn gan ddeffro arall. Unwaith yn rhagor mae dy sgrech di wedi galw’r rhieni ac mae’r golau yn y coridor yn llamu’n fyw. Mae’r curiad rhythmig o ofn oedd wedi bod yn carlamu drwy dy gorff di i gyd yn ildio i feichio wylo. Mae’n flin iawn da ti – ti’n nabod eu llygaid molog yn rhy dda – mae’n ddrwg calon gen ti fod di’n bygro’u bywydau.Then, back to Daud’s world – and there’s another death – followed by another wakening. Once more your scream has summoned the parents and the light in the corridor springs to life. The rhythmic pulsing of fear that had been galloping through your whole body gives way to sobbing. You’re very sorry – you recognise their bleary eyes only too well – you heartily regret that you’re buggering up their lives.
Yr ofn ‘ma, y pwysau afiach, ciaidd ‘ma, pryd fydd e’n mynd i ddod i ben? O leia’ fe fu farw dy arwr di, Sorakados o’r Hen Lyfrau, a oedd wedi teithio i’r Nw Yrth i frwydro yn erbyn y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd; fe’i lladdon nhw fe pan oedd e’n un ar hugain oed. Mae llawr o amser ar ôl i ti cyn hynny, on’d oes?This fear, this brutal, unhealthy pressure, when will it be going to come to an end? At least your hero died, Sorakados from the Old Books, who’d travelled to the Nw Yrth to fight against the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers; they killed him when he was twenty-one. There’s a lot of time left for me before then, isn’t there?
Mae dy Mam, dy angyles lân – sy’n afiach, ar fin marw – yn clebran. A bu bron i ti’i lladd hi unwaith eisoes, ddydd gest di d’eni! Arnat ti mae’r holl fai. Mae dy Dad, brenin rhacsog y castell, wel – be yw’r gair – rhywbeth sy 'di bod 'da fe yn dy erbyn byth er hynny. Mae e wastad yn mynd bant, gweithio, teithio, gwerthu, meddwi’n chwil, brwydro, cael ei anafu, gweiddi. A nawr dyma fe’n chwifio’i freichiau’n hollol ddi-rym fel arfer pan fydd Mam wedi cynhyrfu'n lân. Rywbryd, fe fyddi di’n gobeithio byddai’n marw, neu cael ei ladd, neu be’ bynnag. Ond mae rhywbeth yn ei gylch sy’n wyllt, anrhagweladwy, ffyrnig, ac mewn ffordd rwyt ti’n meddwl dylet ti fod fel ‘na, gan gerdded yn ei ôl troed. Heb yr holl drais, wrth gwrs.Your Mam, your pure angel – who’s ill, on the point of death – is prattling on. And you’ve almost killed her once already, on the day of your birth! It’s all your fault. Your Dad, ragged king of the castle, well – what’s the word? – he’s resented you since then. He’s always going off, working, travelling, selling, getting drunk, fighting, getting injured, shouting. And now he’s waving his arms totally ineffectually as usual when Mam gets terribly upset. Sometimes, you hope he woild die, or get killed, or whatever. But there’s something about him that’s wild, unpredictable, fierce, and in a way you think you should be like that, following in his footsteps. Without all the violence, of course.
Mae dy chwaer, sy wedi sleifio rownd y drws, yn syllu arnat ti’n dosturiol ond gyda chariad. A dyna eiriau llym wedi’u tagu, dicter wedi’i ffrwyno. Mae’u seithuctod, eu breuddwydion heb eu cyflawni’n creu hinsawdd fechan gyda dynameg gaotig ei hun; mae’r sefyllfa deuluol fel rhyw fath o sosban bwysedd – fyddi di byth yn gwybod sut i’w bodloni nhw.Your sister, who’s slunk round the door, is staring at you pityingly but with love. And then harsh words are choked back, anger reigned in. Their futility, their unfulfilled dreams, create a micro-climate with its own chaotic dynamics; the family situation is like some kind of pressure cooker – you’ll never know how to satisfy them.
Ti’n blasu anhoffter dy Dad, poen dy Mam, a serch dy chwaer. Bai – cariad – euogrwydd – atgasedd – cywilydd – y rhain i gyd sy’n bodoli gyda’i gilydd yn y lle ‘ma. Fe fyddi di’n ymgartrefi yn dy Annwfn dy hunan liw nos, ble fyddi di’n cael dy wasgu gan y maen yn yr hunllef bob tro, a bid siŵr fe fydd yr oriau effro’n wael hefyd. Ond o leia’ fe elli di ddianc i fyd comics. Fe wyddost ti sut mae cyfrifo, sut mae sillafu, a bellach fe fyddi di’n dysgu dwlu ar batrymau, gan greu diogelwch drwy drefnu, drwy ddefodau. Fe fyddi di’n dechrau bwrw hud. A fydd hyn yn ddigon cryf i’th achub di? Ond waeth befo am yr hyn sy yng nghôl y dyfodol; weithiau, efallai o ganlyniad i’r swyn-ganeuon a’r ystumiau wedi’u hail-wneud drosodd a throsodd cyn syrthio i gysgu, fe fydd rhywbeth hollol wahanol yn digwydd gyda’r nos. Ac fe fyddi di’n teimlo fel ‘sai tithau fydd wedi cymryd y llyw, i ryw raddau o leia’, a dyma sut fyddi di’n disgrifio’r profiad wrthot ti dy hunan pan fyddi di’n ei gofio’n hwyrach —You taste your Dad’s dislike, your Mum’s pain, and your sister’s love. Blame – love – guilt – hatred – shame – all these exist together in this place. You’ll be settling down in your own Hell by night, where you’ll be crushed by the stone in the nightmare every time, and you can be sure that the waking hours will be terrible also. But at least you can escape into the world of comics. You know how to count, how to spell, and now you’ll learn to love patterns, creating safety through ordering, through rituals. You’ll begin to cast spells. Will this be strong enough to save you? But never mind about what the future holds; sometimes, perhaps as a result of the incantations and the gestures, repeated over and over before falling to sleep, something totally different will happen at night. And you feel as if it’s you who’ve taken charge, to some extent at least, and here’s how you describe the experience to yourself when you remember later —
Heb rybudd, mae’r byd i gyd yn crebachu a thoddi. Dw i’n cael ‘y ngwasgu a ‘nhynnu ar yr un pryd fel ‘swn i’n cwympo i mewn i un o’r tyllau duon ‘na, mae’r Athro Stephen Hawking wastad yn sôn amdanyn nhw. Ydw i’n mynd i farw, unwaith eto, gan adael yr holl lanastr budr sydd byw ar ôl? A dyma ryw rym yn ‘nghodi i gerfydd ‘y ngwar, gan beri i fi hedfan i lan, yn arafach ac yn arafach wrth i ‘nghoesau a ‘mreichiau, ‘yn holl gorff, chwyrlïo ar hap. Byddwn i’n sgrechian fel cigfran lwglyd ar do Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig ‘sai ‘na wynt yn ‘yn ysgyfaint o gwbl.Without warning, the whole world crinkles and melts. I’m squashed and stretched at the same time as if I was falling into one of those black holes Professor Stephen Hawking’s always on about. Am I going to die, again, leaving the whole dirty mess that’s life behind? And there’s some force lifting me up by the scuff of my neck, causing me to fly upwards, quicker and quicker as my arms and legs, my whole body, twirls round randomly. I’d screech like a starving raven on the roof of the Temple of the Hidden Glory if there was any wind in my lungs at all.
A dyna fi felly, o’r diwedd, o dan heulwen ddigon llachar i ddallu rhywun, ar ben tŵr enfawr o berl sy’n crafu’r nefoedd glas noeth fel ewin y cawr cysefin yn pigo trwyn blewog yr Hen Ddihenydd. Mae’r dymestl gyhyrog yn chwythu lle y mynno (wrth reswm) -- pwy sy’n gallu atal grymoedd natur rhag chwarae eu castiau? -- ac mae’i thafodau bloesg yn cosi ymhobman. O Dad – dw i’n dweud wrtha ‘yn hunan drosodd a throsodd – dw i’n maddau i ti, dwyt ti’m yn gwybod be o’t ti’n ‘neud.And so there you are, at last, under sunlight bright enough to blind someone, on top of an enormous, tower of pearl that scratches the naked blue heavens like the nail of the original giant picking the Ancient of Days’ hairy nose. The muscular storm blows where it wishes (of course) – who can stop the forces of nature from playing their tricks? – and its lisping tongues tickle everywhere. O Dad – I say to myself over and over – I forgive you, you didn’t know what you were doing.
Ac wedyn, yn hollol ddisymwth, fe godiff o ddim tu ôl i fi, rywbeth, be’n union ydy dw i’m yn gwybod. O, dw i’n teimlo mor sâl â chiper ail-law wedi’i gyfodi, ond hefyd yn gyffro i gyd o gredu bydda i’n ymuno â’r cyndeidiau o’r diwedd. Am ollyngdod melys fydd dod yn gysgod a’i lais yn ubain leilai nes iddo ddiflannu am byth. Ond dan yr amgylchiadau, sut alla i feddwl y fath bethau blodeuog, hyd yn oed, tybed? Ond yn lle cael ‘y ninistrio’n farddonol, gwely pedwar postyn sy’n codi i ‘ngolwg fel hofrennydd a yrrir gan ryw fath o hylif hyfflam, trwchus sy’n ffrwtian mor beryglus ar hyd y lle, ac arno griw o gryts colledig jyst fel fi.And then – totally unexpectedly, there rises from no-where behind me, something, what exactly it is I don’t know. Oh, I feel as sick as a second-hand regurgitated kipper, but also all excited from realising that I’ll be joining the ancestors at last. What sweet release shall be becoming a shadow whose voice howls less and less until it disappears for ever. But under the circumstances, how can I even think such flowery things, I wonder? But instead of being poetically destroyed, a four-poster bed rises into my sight like a helicopter powered by some kind of dense, flammable fluid that’s fizzling all over the place, and on it are a bunch of lost kids just like me.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 6 extra image
Maen nhw i gyd yn fôr-ladron, sy’n gwisgo gwasgodau coch, a hetiau trichorn ac arnynt y benglog a’r esgyrn croes. Bachgen hŷn yw capten y gwely hedegog wedi’i orchuddio â’r fflag ddu, ac am ganol y llanc o Ficing mae gwregys aur ac ynddo gleddyf hudol (mwy na thebyg). Mae e fel y ffrind gorau dw i’m wedi cwrdd â fe eto.They’re all pirates, who’re wearing red waist-coats, and tricorn hats with the skull-and-crossbones on them. An older boy’s the captain of the flying bed, covered by the pirate flag, and around the Viking-lad’s waist there’s a golden belt with a magical sword in to (more than likely). He’s like the best friend I’ve never yet met.
Ac mae’n ymddangos taw canwr bywyd yw e, yr un sy’n galw ar bawb i chwarae’n benrhydd, gan leddfu poen briwiau glasgoch, llidiog, a gwella crachod dwfn wedi’u hachosi trwy gwympo oddi ar eich beic, cyn i chi crafu nhw ymaith. Mae’n dda gen i mod i ddim ar ‘mhen ‘yn hunan ar ben y tŵr esgyrnog ‘na ynghanol yr awyr ddigwmwl, ond fyddwn i’m yn nabod e ‘swn i’n taro fy nhrwyn ynddo fe. Dw i’m yn nabod ar y Ddaear na’r Nw Yrth pwy yw’r Rodnis eraill ‘chwaith, a dw i’n ofni beth sy’n mynd i ddigwydd.And it appears that he’s the life-singer, the one who calls on everyone to play without holding back, soothing the pain of angry, violet wounds, and mending deep scabs caused by falling off your bike, before you scratch them off. I’m happy I’m not in my own on top of that skeletal tower in the middle of the cloudless sky, but I wouldn’t know him from Adam. I don’t know who on Earth or on the Nw Yrth are those other Herberts are either, and I’m frightened of what’s going to happen.
Brysia di, ‘achan, neidia, mae’n gweiddi arna i. Dere ‘mlaen, ymddirieda yno i, neu fe fydd hi’n rhy hwyr! Rho’r gorau i fecso amdanat ti dy hunan, tyrd i ymuno â’r grŵp o frodyr ‘ma! Gwan ei galon a gyll, yw’r unig beth sy’n llenwi’n meddwl wedyn, ac ar ôl eiliad iasol o oedi dyma fi’n taflu ‘yn hunan tuag at y gwely, sy’n hofran yn ddiamynedd ar yr awel sbeitlyd, gan ymdrechgar guro’i adenydd sylweddol. Ac mae’n cymryd oesoedd i gyrraedd, am wn i o leia’, a dw i’n credu fe fydda i’n cwympo, gan gael ‘yn lladd yn y pen draw – fflatsh, fel pwmpen wedi’i gollwng o awyren jet – ar y tir glas filltir islaw.Hurry up, mate, jump, he shouts at me. Come one, trust me, or it’ll be too late! Give up worrying about yourself, come to join this band of brothers! He who hesitates is lost, is the only thing that fills my mind then, and after a thrilling instant of hesitation I’m throwing myself towards the bed, which hovers impatiently on the spiteful air, energetically beating its substantial wings. And it takes ages to arrive, as far as I know at least, and I think I’ll fall, getting killed in the end – splat, like a pumpkin dropped from a jet-plane – on the verdant land a mile below.
Ond gyda sgrialu dwys gan ‘y nghymrodyr newydd ar y gwely, sy’n ‘yn llusgo nerth eu breichiau, dyma fi’n cwympo'n ffradach ar y strwythur enfawr, haearn mewn union bryd, ac wedyn swalpio – a’r tŵr anhygoel ‘na’n ffrwydro’n deilchion, mewn fflach o olau uwchfioled, gan adael yr awyr yn sawru o osôn, wrth i’r holl dirwedd doreithiog oddi tanon ni, sy’n llawn planhigion lliwgar, rhyfedd, ddiasbedain yn wyllt. A dim ond wedyn, ymlacio, a wna i, gan ‘y ngadael ‘yn hun i fynd yn llwyr.But with intense scrabbling by my new comrades on the bed, who drag me with all the strength in their arms, I flop onto the enormous iron structure just in time, and then flailing about – and the incredible tower there’s exploding into bits, in a flash of ultraviolet light, leaving the air stinking of ozone, as the whole bountiful landscape below us, which is full of strange, brightly-coloured plants, resounds wildly. And only then, I relax, letting myself go completely.
Ac felly, ar unwaith y tro ‘ma, bant â ni, i lan ac i lawr, ymlaen ac yn ôl, rownd a rownd. Rydyn ni’n canu siantis môr wrth geisio cadw’r gwely’n wastad, a dyna ni’n hollti tonnau’r awyr sy’n drwm o lawenydd. Ac yn y pellter, mae’r tŵr eithriadol ‘na’n ail-adeiladu ei hunan, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, er do’n ni’m yn sylwi ar y ffaith pryd ‘ny.And so, straight away this time, off we go, up and down, back and forth, round and round. We sing seas-shanties whilst trying to keep the bed level, and we cleave the sky’s waves which are heavy with joy. And in the distance, that exceptional tower is re-building itself, somehow or other, although I didn’t notice the fact at the time.
Mae’r gwely’n siglo’n ofnadwy wrth gyflymu a chodi'n uwch uwch ‘sai un o’r criw o fwncïod ewn wedi gosod y llyw i gyrraedd calon yr Haul, fel gallai pawb rannu’r profiad o dranc a phuro ac aileni gyda’i gilydd gan aberthu’u hunain er mwyn y lleill ac o ganlyniad aildyfu’u hadenydd llarpiog. Mae fel ‘sai egni oll yr Un Llachar wedi cronni yn ‘y mherfeddion, ac mae gwepau pob un o’r bechgyn yn disgleirio fel lleuad lawn am ddaearnesafiant. Allwn i’m mynegi’r fath syniadau mewn geiriau synhwyrol na chall bryd ‘ny, ond dw i’n siŵr mod i’n teimlo mwy hapus nag erioed o’r blaen. Ac wedyn, mewn chwinciad, dyna fi wedi dihuno. Sa i’n cofio bellach sut neu pryd es i i’r ysgol y dydd ‘na, neu hyd oed a es i o gwbl.The bed jiggles awfully whilst speeding up and rising higher and higher, as if one of the crew of cheeky monkeys’d set the controls to reach the heart of the Sun. so that everyone could share the experience of death and purification together, sacrificing themselves for the sake of the others, and as a result re-growing their tattered wings. It’s as if the Resplendent One’s whole power had collected in my guts, and the faces of every one of the boys is shining like a full moon at perigee. I couldn’t express such ideas in sensible or wise words then, but I sure that I was feeling happier than ever before. And then, in the wink of an eye, I’d woken up. I can’t remember now how nor when I went to school that day, or even whether I went at all.
Rywbryd yn y dyfodol, ac yn rhywle arall yn llwyr, mae enwau a sefyllfaoedd wedi newid, ond er hynny, mae ffawd yn dal i weithredu fel arfer. A dyna gord E-fflat pur, canu grwndi cread oll, yn gwasgu’r gwynt o ysgyfaint tri dyn, wth beri i’w llygaid wylo dagrau o waed. Ac wedyn mae’r sain yn hofran dan wgu uwchben y tân yn ffrio’r fil o ganhwyllau gwaedrudd sy’n llenwi’r lle sanctaidd. A dyna lanc ar fin dangos ei fod yn ŵr, o’r enw Dai Baxter; a’i enaid yn cael ei fwrw trwy byrth canfyddiad i hunllef fythol, wrth ei gorff yn gorffwys fel petai’n cysgu dan garthen diwybod ymhlith y fflamiau.Sometime in the future, and somewhere else entirely, names and situations have changed, but despite that, fate still operates as usual. And there’s a pure, E-flat chord, all creation’s purring, pressing the wind from the lungs of three men, whilst causing their eyes to weep tears of blood. And then the sound hovers, pouting, over the fire that’s drying the thousand candles that fill the sacred space. And there’s a lad on the point of proving he’s a man, named Dai Baxter, his spirit being thrown through the gates of perception into an eternal nightmare, while his body lies as if he were sleeping under a blanket of unknowing amidst the flames.
Ac yn nheyrnas y dychymyg, lle bydd delweddau’n dod i fywyd yn aml, tywysog golygus ydy, a’i groen llachar cyn wynned ag eira pur dan lach y ymestl, a’i wefusau cusanadwy cyn goched â gwaed lleidr croeshoeliedig sy’n erfyn am drugaredd, a’i wallt haerllug cyn ddued â chalon y frân sy’n tynnu llygad o gyrff drylliedig, petasai arwr mewn chwedl dylwyth teg, ynteu seren mewn llyfr comic erch. Serch hynny, neu o’i achos efallai, fe oroesa ei gymeriad digymar a’i gysgod hefyd, hyd yn oed pan fydd wedi marw. A heb yn wybod iddo, ar hyn o bryd, mae croth ei gariad yn meithrin corff baban hudol, ei fab e, sef yr un nerthol a ddaw.And in the kingdom of the imagination, where images often come to life, he’s a handsome prince, his shining skin as white as pure snow under the tempest’s lash, and his kissable lips as red as the blood of a crucified thief who’s pleading for mercy, and his presumptuous hair as black as the heart of the crow that’s pulling eyes out of shattered bodies, as if he were the hero in a fairy-tale, or the star in a lurid comic-book. Despite that, or because of it perhaps, his peerless character will survive, along with his shadow, even when he dies. And unbeknownst to him, at the moment, his girlfriend’s womb is nurturing the body of a magical baby, his son, namely the powerful one to come.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 7

Pennod Un Ar Ddeg: Cyfathrebu (Lleisiau 7) / Communicating (Voices 7)

Mae sawl ffynhonnell ddienw’n honni mai arwydd cyntaf gwallgofrwydd yw siarad â’ch hunan, onid ydynt? Ond wedi dweud hynny, pa beth arall y medrwch ei wneud pan fyddwch yn hollol ar eich pen eich hun ac unig? Dan y fath amgylchiadau, efallai mai sain eich llais eich hun yn atseinio y tu mewn i’ch pen sydd yn eich cadw yn eich iawn bwyll. Ac eto i gyd, a allwch ymddiried yn lleisiau beirniadol y rhai a ddywed na ddylech droi i mewn na chreu bydoedd hudol llawn ffrindiau dychmygol i gael hyd i ryw gysur ac i osgoi gofalon y byd pob dydd? O bryd i’w gilydd, ymhellach, mae llawenychu mewn ffantasi yn gallu helpu i ddatrys problemau dyrys ac i ddatgelu ffeithiau wedi’u celu. Cyn hired ag y lleisiau oddi mewn, sydd yn tueddu i ddiasbedain fel arfer yng nghilfachau dyfnaf yr enaid, na fyddant yn eich camarwain, na’ch denu i wneud drwg, oni allwn ni gytuno eu bod yn ddiniwed o leiaf, ac yn eithriadol o ddefnyddiol ar y gorau? Dyna gasgliad y siaman cyfoes sydd yn credu bod ganddo fynediad i realiti amgen, drwy wrando ar y lleisiau fyrdd wedi’u hysbrydoli gan sylweddau neilltuol ac ymarferion meddyliol, lle y gall ddarganfod cyfrinachau a newid hynt digwyddiadau.

Some anonymous sources allege that speaking to yourself is the first sign of madness, don’t they? But having said that, what else can you do when you are totally alone and lonely? Under such circumstances, perhaps it’s the sound of your own voice resounding inside your head that keeps you sane. And then again, can you trust in the judgemental voices of those who say that you should not turn inside, nor create magical worlds full of imaginary friends, to find some comfort and avoid the cares of the every-day world? From time to time, furthermore, indulging in fantasy can help to solve perplexing problems and to reveal hidden facts. As long as the voices within, which tend to resound usually in the deepest recesses of the soul, do not mislead you, nor tempt you to do evil, can we not agree that they are harmless at least, and exceptionally useful at the best? That’s the conclusion of the contemporary shaman who believes that he has access to an alternative reality, through listening to the myriad voices inspired by particular substances and mental practices, where he can discover secrets and change the course of events.

Annwyl ffrind! Dw i’n sylweddoli dwyt ti ddim yn ymateb yn syth, os o gwbl ar adegau. Ond ‘sdim ots ‘da fi, dim ond lico sgwrsio dw i, ‘achan. Gobeithio mod i’n gallu defnyddio’r fath air, ond dw i’n teimlo ein bod ni’n ffrindiau erbyn hyn. Mae’n chwith ‘da fi ddechrau fel hyn, dw i’n casáu pobl sy’n cwyno bob amser, ond rhaid i fi ofyn ta p’un, sa i’n disgwyl i chi ateb, w! A bod yn onest, dw i’n gwerthfawrogi’r cyfle i sgwrsio, dyna i gyd.Dear friend! I realise you don’t reply straight away, if at all, on occasions. But that’s no problem to me, I just like chatting, mate. I hope I can use such a word, but I feel like we’re friends by now. I’m sorry to start like this, I hate people who go on all the time, but I have to ask anyway, I’m not expecting you to answer, mun! And to be honest, I appreciate the chance to talk, that’s all.
Pam maen nhw’n neud pethau fel ‘yn? Brwydro dros liw croen, crefydd, iaith, ethnigrwydd? Uffernol yw rhyfel, ac mae pawb yn yr Uffern gyda’i gilydd yn y rhyfel ‘ma. Dw i ‘di gweld cyrff marw wedi’u gwasgaru hyd y llawr, unwaith neu ddwy, pan fydd bom wedi ffrwydro ar byws yr archfarchnad. Dynion, menywod, plant. Un peth yw anafu a lladd oedolion, ond y pethau maen nhw’n ‘neud gyda’r cryts! Dw i wastad wedi cael hunllefau er pan o’n i’n blentyn ‘yn hunan, ‘does neb yn gallu esbonio pam. Mae fel ‘sai rhywbeth cas iawn wedi digwydd i fi dw i ddim yn gallu'i gofio, fel rhyw ysfa uffernol sa i’n gallu ei chrafu. Credwch chi fi, dyw dim byd wedi gwella bellach, a nawr mae pethau’n waeth yn y byd go iawn hefyd! Mae rhaid i Mam roi rhywbeth sbesial i fi gyda’r nos sy’n helpu fi i fynd i gysgu. Ond hyd yn oed wedyn, mae’r geiriau cyfarwydd sy’n gwahanu’r ochrau oddi wrth ei gilydd er gwaetha’ pa mor syml ydyn nhw, yn dal i lifo drosta i – ‘ffatri, tvornica, fabrika, usine, fábrica, fabbrica, fabrik, fabrik, tehdas, ergostásio’ i ddechrau.Why do they do things like this? Fighting over skin-colour, language, ethnicity? War’s Hell, and everyone’s in Hell together in this war. I’ve seen dead bodies scattered all over the ground once or twice, when a bomb’s exploded near the supermarket. Men, women, children. It’s one thing to injure and kill adults, but the things they do with the kids! I’ve always had nightmares since when I was a child myself, no-one can explain why. It’s as if something hateful had happened to me that I can’t remember, like some hellish itch I can’t scratch. Believe you me, nothing’s got better by now, and now things’re worse in the real world too! Mam has to give me something special at night that helps me go to sleep. But even then, the familiar words that separate the sides from each other despite how simple they are, keep on flowing over me – ‘factory, tvornica, fabrika, usine, fábrica, fabbrica, fabrik, fabrik, tehdas, ergostásio’ to start.
Mae’n neud i ‘ngwaed i ferwi! Fydda i ddim yn ymladd byth ond mod i eisiau lladd y llofruddion. Mae ‘Nhad i a’r sowldiwrs eraill eisiau i fi neud pethau arswydus i gryts eraill ond dw i’n gwrthod bob amser. Fyddan nhw ddim yn gallu ‘neud i fi fihafio mor ddrwg, ac, O, dw i’n cael ‘y nghosbi’n enbyd. Bu bron i fi farw sawl gwaith, gyda mwy o’r geiriau bradwrus yn llenwi ‘nghlustiau – ‘riža, reis, pirinač, riz, arroz, riso, reis, ris, riisi, rýzi.’ Ac ro’n nhw’n ‘y ngwawdio i ar y naw pan ‘nes i bisio’n hunan. Ond sa i’n mynd bant i unman, er mod i eisiau rhedeg yn bell i ffwrdd oddi ‘ma. Goroeswr dw i! Dw i wedi bod yn meddwl am dwyn yr hen fan wen, cofiwch chi, a mynd am dro ynddi hi gyda’r Ficing ‘na ‘sai diddordeb ‘da fe, ond sa i ‘di penderfynu ‘to.It makes my blood boil! I’ll never kill, except I want to kill the murderers. My Dad and the other soldiers want me to do abominable things to other kids but I always refuse. They won’t be able to make me behave so badly, and Oh, I get punished terribly. I’ve almost died several times, with more of the treacherous words filling my ears – ‘riža, rice, pirinač, riz, arroz, riso, reis, ris, riisi, rýzi..’ And they mocked me awfully when I peed myself. But I’m not going off anywhere, although I want to run far away from here. I’m a survivor! I’ve been thinking about stealing the old white van, mind you, and going for a spin in it with that Viking, if he’s interested, but I’ve not decided yet.
Cigydd yw ‘Nhad i wrth ei grefft, jyst fel yr hen berthnasau yn rhywle dros y môr mewn tre’ gaeth ei sefydlu gan y Ficingiaid ganrifoedd yn ôl dw i’n credu. Dw i ‘di bod yn darllen popeth am y lle, yn enwedig ar ôl siarad gyda’r Hen Filwr ‘na sy’n ffrind i Dad. Mae’n dweud fod e’n dod o ‘na’n wreiddiol, a fod e’n lle anhygoel o ddiddorol i fyw yno. Mae’n brofiadol iawn, proffesiynol hefyd, ‘Nhad, mae pawb yn lico fe – ar ein hochr ni, dw i’n feddwl. Maen nhw – y rhai ar yr ochr arall – yn honni taw bwtsier ydy’n wir wrth ei alwedigaeth, er ‘ny. Dyna beth a ‘nelen nhw, sbo, ond bwli go iawn ydy’n wir.My Dad’s a butcher by profession, just like the old relations somewhere overseas in a town that was founded by the Vikings centuries ago I think. I’ve been reading everything about the place, especially after speaking with that Old Soldier, who’s a friend of Dad’s. He says he comes from there originally, and that it’s an incredible place to live in. He’s very experienced, professional too, my Dad, everyone likes him – on our side, I mean. They – the ones on the other side – claim he’s a real butcher by calling, though. They would do, s’pose, but he actually is a real bully.
Bydd e’n mynd i frwydro, a lladd pobl, wrth i Mam helpu nhw yn yr ysbyty. Mae’n mynd mas yn yr hen fan wen gyda’i gwn a’i gyllell tra mae hi’n cael lifft gan wisgo ei het, a’i wisg, a’i watsh fach ben i waered. Mae Dad yn lico’i lifrai milwrol caci hefyd, yn enwedig y cap pêl-fas ac arno lun o gythraul fflamllyd. Mae’n flin ‘da fi fod y ddau ohonyn nhw’n edrych mor flinedig drwy’r amser. Falle taw tipyn bach o saib i ymlacio yn y tŷ’n gwrando ar ‘gerddoriaeth, glazba, muzika, musique, música, musica, musik, musik, musiikki, mousikí’ fyddai’n helpu nhw i deimlo’n well.He goes out to fight, and kill people, while Mam helps them in the hospital. He goes out in the old white fan with his gun and his knife while she gets a lift wearing her hat and her uniform, and her little upside-down watch. Dad likes his khaki military uniform too, especially the baseball cap with the picture of the flaming demon on it. I’m sorry the two of them look so tired all the time. Perhaps a bit of time off to relax in the house listening to ‘music, glazba, muzika, musique, música, musica, musik, musik, musiikki, mousikí’ would help them to feel better.
Mae rhai pobl yn meddwl bod y nosweithiau’n well na’r dyddiau, bod y tywyllwch yn cuddio nhw, ond ‘does neb yn gallu osgoi’r saethwyr cudd, dyna beth mae Dad yn ddweud. Hei, dyma sut dych chi’n nabod pwy yw pwy, hyd yn oed o dan lenni’r nos. Wel, ar ôl yr holl drafferth a helynt gyda Tŵr Biblael, drwy’r iaith maen nhw’n defnyddio, dyna sut, os bydd tafod yn eu ceg ta be’. O, ‘nogomet, pêl-droed, fudbal, football, fútbol, calcio, fußball, fotboll, jalkapallo, podósfairo’ – dw i’n casáu’r gêm brydferth o ganlyniad!Some people thing that the evenings are better than the days, that the darkness hides them, but no-one can avoid the sniper, that’s what Dad says. Hey, here’s how you know who’s who, even under cover of darkness. Well, after all the trial and tribulation with the Biblael Tower, by the language they use, that’s how, if they’ve got a tongue in their head anyway. Oh, ‘nogomet, football, fudbal, football, fútbol, calcio, fußball, fotboll, jalkapallo, podósfairo’ – I hate the beautiful game as a result!
A dyna oedd y llanc posh ‘na o’r ochr arall oedd wedi cwympo oddi ar ei fotor-beic ar gwrt blaen y garej ar lan yr afon ar bwys y pinwydd. Ro’n ni’n nabod e, ch’wel, achos fod e’n gwirioni ar ‘yn annwyl chwaer; mae pawb yn sôn amdano fe ar y slei, er iddo fe gael ei eni i deulu sy’n perthyn i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ym mhen tlotaf y dref, ac maen nhw’n dweud, ein dynion ni, fe ddylai fe ladd ei hunan wrth adrodd ei weddïau ffug. Pan wrthododd e (dim syndod yno, ond er fod e mor ddewr, roedd e’n rhegi fel tincer, gw’bod rhai llwon gwych mae’r llanciau ‘na sy’n mynd i wasanaethau’r Eglwys Arall!). Ond ta be’, ro’n nhw’n mynd i ddodi tar a phlu arno fe, y cachgwn o gythreuliaid.And then there was that posh lad from the other side, who’d fallen off his motorbike and the front court of the garage on the bank of the river by the pines. We knew him, y’see, ‘cos he’s mad about my dear sister, everyone’s talking about him on the sly, although he was born into a family that belongs to the World-Wide Church, on the wrong side of the tracks, and they say, our men, that he should kill himself whilst saying his fake prayers. When he refused (no surprise there, but although he’s so brave, he was swearing like the blazes, they do know some great swear-words, those lads who go to services of the Other Church!). But anyway, they were going to tar-and-feather him, those devilish cowards.
Ond fi roddodd ben ar hynny oll drwy sleifio lan ac arllwys petrol dros y llawr, ac wedyn tanio’r hen le a llusgo’r boi ymaith. Mae’n iawn a dweud y gwir, er fod e’n aelod o’r Eglwys Bondigrybwyll. Gymaint ag unrhyw beth arall, dw i’n siŵr bod y chwaer angen tipyn bach o gwmni gan lanc. Merch brydferth yw hi wedi’r cwbl, ac mae pawb angen rhywun ar eu hochr nhw i roi’r byd yn ei le, a ‘neud stwff arall hefyd, hyd yn oed mewn cylchfa ryfel.But it was me who put a stop to all that by sidling up and pouring petrol over the floor, and then setting fire to the old place and dragging the boy off. He’s OK to tell the truth, although he’s a member of the So-Called Church. As much as anything else, I’m sure that my sister wants a bit of company from a boy. She’s a beautiful girl, after all, and everyone needs someone at their side to set the world to rights, and the other stuff too, even in a war-zone.
Gwallt golau sy ‘da fe, tipyn bach o waed Ficingaidd ynddo fe, falle! Deallus iawn, ac yn darllen comics drwy’r amser. Ond mae llawer o broblemau ‘da fe hyd y gwn i. Dw i’n dychmygu fod e’n eitha’ hoff o’r hen fwg drwg, a’r gweddill. Ac ar ben ‘ny, mae e’n ffansïo’n chwaer i, rhywbeth fel ‘na. Dw i’n credu fod e’n ‘sgrifennu cerddi ac yn hala nhw iddi hi. Dyna pam mae Dad yn gasáu fe. ‘Sdim ots ‘da fi am ‘ny, mae’n reit ddewr, licwn i fod yn ffrind iddo fe. Cymaint o gastiau fydden ni’n chwarae ar bawb!He’s got blond hair, bit of Viking blood in him, p’rhaps! Very intelligent, and reads comics all the time. But he’s got lots of problems as far as I know. I imagine he’s quite fond of the old wacky-baccy, and the rest. And on top of that, he fancies my sister, something like that. I think he writes poems and sends them to her. That’s why Dad hates him. I don’t care about that, he’s really brave, I’d like to be a friend of his. How much we’d scam people!
‘Achan, roedd fel afon o ddŵr o’r Hen Lyfr neu rywbeth. Roedd yn lwcus, yn wyrth fach, roedd bocs o fatsis ‘da fi bryd ‘ny achos mod i’n trio rhoi’r gorau i ‘smygu. O, Lushfé a wylai o golli’r frwydr, ro’n nhw’n dawnsio fel crics mewn padell ffrio ar blât poeth wrth drio diffodd y fflamiau. Gan ddefnyddio dŵr, y ffyliaid! Ac yna roedd y ffrwydrad. Bu bron iddo fe hyrddio ni ill dau bant i’r Nw Yrth. Ges i gyfergyd o ana’ i’r pen o achos hynny, siŵr o fod. Sa i’n gallu meddwl reit o hyd. Waeth befo am ‘ny, chwerthin am eu pennau nhw i gyd am oriau o’n i, pan ddes i at ‘y nghoed ta be'!Mate, it was like a river of fire from the Old Book, or something. It was lucky, a small miracle, that I had a box of matches that time, ‘cos I’m tryin’ to give up smokin’. Oh, Lushfé who wept when he lost the battle, they were dancing like crickets in a frying pan on a hot-plate while they tried to put out the flames. Using water, the fools! And then there was the explosion. It almost blasted both of us off to the Nw Yrth. I had concussion from an injury to the head ‘cos of that, probably. I still can’t think right. Never mind about that, I was laughing at them for hours, when I came to my senses anyway!
Ro’n i’n cuddio ynghanol y goedwig binwydd wedi 'nrysu’n llwyr ac yn waed i gyd gyda 'nillad yn rhacs fel mewn rhyw hen ffilm sombi. Fe deimlai fel ‘swn i’n gwisgo sachlen a lludw fel penydiwr bawlyd o’r canol oesoedd yn crefu ar yr Offeiriad mewn Gofal tu blaen i ddrws Tŷ Edifeirwch. Ond nage aelod o’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ‘mo fi, w, hidiwch befo am ‘yn ffrindiau! Llechu, hynny yw, nes iddyn nhw ‘nhal i, gwaetha’r modd. Mae ‘da fi ryw gasgliad o greithiau neis iawn o’r corun i’r sawdl o ganlyniad i’r gurfa ges i. Ond o leia’ do’n i’m mewn sach go iawn i gael ‘y nghuro fel y cryts eraill, y pŵr dabs â nhw! Sa i’n gallu deall, dw i’n casáu’r hen ddiawl, ‘y Nhad, ond mae e’n neud dim ond beth mae’n feddwl yn dda, i’n rhoi i ar ben y ffordd, hynny yw, y ‘cesta, put, drum, chemin, camino, sentiero, pfad, väg, polku, monopáti.’I was hiding in the middle of the pine forest totally confused and covered in blood with my clothes in rags like in some old zombie film. It felt like I was wearing sack-cloth and ashes like a mucky penitent from the middle ages beseeching the Priest-in-Charge in front of the door of the House of Penitence. But I’m not a member of the World-Wide Church, mun, never mind about my friends! Lurking, that is, until they caught me, more’s the pity. I’ve got quite a collection of really nice scars from head to toe as a result of the hiding I had. But at least I wasn’t in a real sack to get beaten like the other kids, the poor dabs! I can’t understand, I hate the old devil, my Dad, but he’s only doing what he thinks is right, in a way, to put me on the right path, that is the ‘cesta, put, drum, chemin, camino, sentiero, pfad, väg, polku, monopáti.’
A dyna air cymhleth i chi, te – ‘dad, tata, tad, babo, papa, papá, papà, papa, pappa, isä, bampás.’ Wel, nage’r enw ei hunan ond y teimladau. Dw i’n medru gweld pa mor anodd yw popeth. Mae’i lygaid mor ddu â lympiau o lo, ac mae wastad yn ffroeni stwff o’r tun tolciog mae’n dod â fe o bant i dalar. Synnwn i’m ‘sai fe’n mynd â fe i’r gwely. Falle fod e’n cynnwys ei enaid. Brwydro dros ryddid a gwirionedd mae e, yr hen wrol ryfelwr. Eisiau cipio’r wlad yn ôl i’r dyfodol. Puro’r tir. Cael gwared ar y paganiaid. Achub y werin. Gadael ei farc ar hanes. Ac mae e yn ddewr, mae e ‘di gweld pethau ofnadw’, mae’n gweiddi amdanyn nhw yn ei gwsg.And there’s a complex word for you – ‘dad, tata, dad, babo, papa, papá, papà, papa, pappa, isä, bampás.’ Well, not the noun itself, but the feelings. I can see how hard everything is. His eyes are as black as lumps of coal, and he’s always snorting stuff from that battered tin he takes with him all over. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took it to bed. Maybe it’s got his soul in it. He’s fighting for freedom and truth, the brave old warrior. Wants to seize the land back for the future. Purify the ground. Get shot of the heathens. Save the people. Leave his mark on history. And he is brave, he’s seen awful things, he shouts about them in his sleep.
Ac wedyn dyna Mam. O’i rhan hi, dyw hi ddim yn gallu peidio pesychu, ac mae hi’n dal i lowcio o’r fflasg boced o arian ‘na. Dw i’n bwrw’r bai ar yr holl chwilod yno yn y ‘sbyty brwnt. Ti’n gallu clywed nhw’n sgrialu drwy’r siafftiau awyr oll, gan gwyno chep-er, chep-er, chep-er ddydd a nos. A sôn am greaduriaid ffiaidd, dyna frawd Dad, neu’n hytrach ‘y Brawd’ gyda’r cwcwll a mantell front, a’r gweddïau, a’r llygaid coch, a’r dwylo ac arnyn nhw ewinedd fel crafangau. Dw i’n weld e’n edrych arna i, gan ysu i ‘neud, wel, sa i eisiau meddwl am beth. Ond fe fydda i’n ‘neud rhywbeth yn ei gylch e, gewch chi weld, fe fydda i’n rhoi rhawaid o halen yn ei botes e ‘to!And then there’s Mam. For her part, she can’t stop coughing, and she keeps on gulping from that silver pocket-flask. I blame all the beetles there in the filthy hospital. You can hear them scuttling through all the air-shafts, whingeing chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, day and night. And talk about vile creatures, there’s Dad’s brother, or rather, ‘the Brother’ with his cowl and dirty robe, and the prayers, and the red eyes, and the hands with their nails like claws. I’ve see him looking at me, itching to do, well, I don’t want to think about what. But I’ll do something about him, you’ll see, I’ll really fix him good and proper yet!
Dw i’n mynd mas gyda Mam bron bob dydd i’r siop lawn silffoedd gwag i aros mewn ciw tu mas i gael dognau. Pethau fel ‘mrkva, šargarepa, moron, carottes, zanahorias, carote, möhren, morötter, porkkanat, karóta.’ ‘Sdim digon o fara i’w gael yn unman – ‘kruh, hljeb, hleb, pain, pan, pane, brot, bröd, leipä, psomi’ – mae pobl yn ymosod ar ei gilydd i gael briwsion, a dim ond ychydig o ddŵr ffres sydd hefyd. Wrth gwrs mae’r trydan wedi mynd ers achau, felly mae canhwyllau’n bwysig ofnadw’. Ac eto i gyd dyna’r sielio di-stop gan fortarau.I go out with Mam almost every day to the shop full of empty shelves to wait in a queue outside to get rations. Things like ‘mrkva, šargarepa, carrots, carottes, zanahorias, carote, möhren, morötter, porkkanat, karóta.’ There’s not enough bread to be had anywhere -- ‘kruh, hljeb, hleb, pain, pan, pane, brot, bröd, leipä, psomí’ – there are people attacking each other to get crumbs, and there’s only a bit of fresh water too. Of course the electric’s been gone for ages, so candles are awfully important. And then again, there’s the non-stop shelling with mortars.
Mae hi wastad yn bwrw glaw yma, hyd yn oed pan fydd yn heulog, ac ym mhob man mae tyllau enfawr llawn gwaed, a dŵr marwaidd, a llaid. Ac o bryd i’w gilydd mae aelodau’r corff ar draws ac ar hyd. Yn wir, dw i wedi gweld nhw, dw i’m yn dweud celwyddau, w! Cariad yw’r Hen Dduwiau, ond mae’n edrych fel ‘sai cariad wedi marw, yn fan ‘yn o leia’. ‘Neno Wezir, y newidiwr ffurf chwedlonol, dw i ‘di bod yn darllen amdano, dw i angen trawsffurfio’n hunan rhywsut neu’i gilydd, fel y galla i ddianc. Dw i eisiau hedfan bant o faes y gad fel rhyw hen gigfran sy’ di cael llond ei bol ar boen a thranc. Ond sa i’n gallu gadael ‘y nghartre’, ‘y nheulu, ‘yn ffrind newydd, alla i? O, a dyna’n Mam, a’r chwaer. Ni allwn i fyw hebddyn nhw, w! Ta be’, nes i ni gwrdd unwaith ‘to yn ein breuddwydion (neu’n hunllefau!), ta-ta tan toc, mêt!It’s always raining here, even when it’s sunny, and everywhere there’s enormous holes full of blood and stagnant water, and mud. And now’n’then there’s body-parts all over the place. Really, I’ve seen ‘em, I’m not telling lies, mun! The Old Gods are Love, but it looks like love’s dead, here, anyway! In the name of Wezir, the fabled shape-shifter, I’ve been reading about him, I need to transform myself somehow or other, so I can escape. I want to fly off from the battle-field like some old raven who’s had a gutful of pain and death. But I can’t leave my home, my family, my new friend, can I? And, Oh, there’s my Mam, and my sis. I couldn’t live without them, mun! Anyway, till we meet again in our dreams (or our nightmares!), ta-ta for now, mate!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 8

Pennod Deuddeg: Dychmygu (Lleisiau 8) / Imagining (Voices 8)

Yn ôl theorïau cyfoes, fel bodau dynol, yr ydym ni’n creu synnwyr dirwedd a ellir ei rannu gan bobl eraill, trwy ddehongli synhwyrion allanol. Dyma’r ‘byd canfyddedig.’ Ar y llaw arall, trwy ddychmygu yr ydym ni’n llunio delweddau, syniadau, a theimladau yn y meddwl, heb ddefnyddio synhwyrion yn uniongyrchol, i greu synnwyr realiti personol, mewnol. Dyma’r ‘byd dychmygol.’ Mewn rhai cyflyrau meddyliol, bydd yn anodd gwahaniaethu rhwng y byd canfyddedig, a’r byd dychmygol. Ar ben hynny, rhai systemau cred sydd yn honni mai rhith yw’r holl fyd canfyddedig beth bynnag; ac mae sawl diwylliant yn credu bod bydoedd dychmygol yr un mor real â’r byd canfyddedig. Er sylwadau o’r fath, mae dychmygu’n ein helpu i ddysgu pethau newydd, cyfuno profiadau amrywiol, a defnyddio gwybodaeth. Gallwn ni hyfforddi’r dychymyg trwy chwedleua, gwrando ar straeon, ac actio. Bydd maint dychymyg person a gynyddir trwy gymryd cyffuriau seicedelig, neilltuol; ymarfer myfyrio neu ddefnyddio hypnosis; ynteu gael ysgogi’r ymennydd gan drydan, er enghraifft. Ymhellach, ymddengys bod cofio a dychmygu’n effeithio ar ei gilydd. Fel rheol (ac wrth ddwyn mewn cof effeithiau sawl cyflwr meddyliol), ni fydd pobl yn gadael i’w dychmygion effeithio’n ormod ar eu gweithredoedd; ond eu credau, i’r gwrthwyneb, a fydd yn llywio’n gryf sut y byddant yn ymddwyn. Wedi dweud hynny, am na chyfyngir dychmygu gan ffactorau allanol, fe allant ddwyn pleser enfawr o bryd i’w gilydd; ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn bosibl dioddef o bryderon dychmygol, erchyll, hefyd. Wedi dweud hynny, am na chyfyngir dychmygu gan ffactorau allanol, fe all ddwyn pleser enfawr o bryd i’w gilydd; ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn bosibl dioddef o bryderon dychmygol, erchyll, hefyd.

According to current theories, as human beings, we create a sense of reality that can be shared with other people, through interpreting external sense-data. This is the ‘perceived world.’ On the other hand, through imagining we fashion images, ideas, and feelings in the mind, without using sense-data directly, to create an internal, personal, sense of reality. This is the ‘imagined world.’ In some mental conditions, it is difficult to differentiate between the perceived world and the imagined world. On top of that, there are some belief-systems which claim that the whole perceived world is an illusion in any case; and several cultures believe that imaginary worlds are just as real as the perceived world. Observations of this kind notwithstanding, imagining helps us to learn new things, integrate varied experiences, and use information. We can train the imagination through tale-telling, listening to stories, and acting. The extent of a person’s imagination is increased through taking particular psychedelic drugs; practising meditation or using hypnosis; or having the brain stimulated with electricity, for example. Furthermore, it appears that remembering and imagining affect each other. Usually (and bearing in mind the effects of several mental conditions), people do not allow their imaginations effect their actions too much; but their beliefs, to the contrary, strongly steer how they behave. Having said that, since imagining is not restricted by external factors, it can bring enormous pleasure from time to time; but, then again, it is possible to suffer from terrible imaginary worries, also.

O, Jelena, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona: ‘yn chwaer, ‘y nghysgod, ‘y nghryfder, ‘y ngofid, ‘y mywyd! Mae hi ‘di bod yn warchodwraig mor rhadlon, a solet, a chyfareddol (neu falle byddai’n well dweud ceidwad y carchar, a dweud y gwir) drwy gydol ‘yn oes hyd yn ‘yn. Dw i’n ei chofio hi’n sleifio rownd y drws, i syllu arna i’n dosturiol ond llawn chariad, a finnau’n ddim ond crwt drewllyd oedd newydd ddihuno o hunllef unwaith eto, wedi pisio’r gwely.Oh, Jelena, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona: my sister, my shadow, my strength, my trouble, my life! She’s been such a gracious, and solid, and enchanting custodian (or perhaps it would be better to say jail-keeper, to tell the truth) all my life up to now. I remember her sidling round the door, to stare at me with pity but full of love, when I was but a stinky kid who’d just awoken from a nightmare once again, having peed the bed.
Dw i ‘di bod mor ffodus achos bod hi ‘di bod yn ‘y ngharco i bob amser ar ôl i Mam fynd i gysgu am byth. Ac mae hi mor brydferth, jyst fel Mam, ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, mae hi’n gallu bihafio fel rhyw fath o anghenfil arallfydol, y gysgadures yn y fagddu, y llechwraig yn y cysgodion, fydd yn mynd yn gacwn gwyllt os bydd unrhyw un yn ceisio’n hanafu ni. Wrth gwrs, dyna oedd cyn i fi ddarganfod sut i fwrw hud, i ‘neud i bethau ddigwydd, ‘yn amddiffyn ‘yn hunan rhag mynachod ffiaidd ac ysbrydion drwg, gan gael be’ dw i eisiau, ran fwya’r amser o leia’. Mae rhyw Hen Filwr (sa i’n gw’bod ei enw go iawn, ffrind i Dad), wedi bod yn ‘nysgu i pan fydd Dad bant. Cymhleth iawn ydy, cofiwch chi!I’ve been so fortunate ‘cos she’s always been caring for me after Mam went to sleep for ever. And she’s so beautiful, just like Mam, but despite that, she can behave like some kind of alien monster, the sleeper in the pitch-dark, the lurker in the shadows, who’ll go raving nuts if anyone tries to harm us. Of course, that was before I discovered how to do magic, to make things happen, defend myself from vile monks and evil spirits, getting what I want, most of the time at least. Some Old Soldier (I dunno his real name, friend of Dad’s), has been teaching me when Dad’s off. It’s really complicated, believe me!
Wel, dyna ni. Dyn ni i gyd yn tyfu i lan mor gyflym, on’d ydyn ni? Merch dal, gref, osgeiddig yw hi bellach, fydd yn gadael y nyth yn ddigon buan. Wi’n credu bydd hi’n mynd bant gyda’n ffrind y Ficing achos bod pawb angen rhywun ar eu hochr nhw i roi’r byd yn ei le, a’r gweddill, pan fyddan nhw’n dod yn oedolion, ac mae hi’n ‘sgrifennu cerddi ac yn hala nhw ato fe ar y slei bach. Mae hi’n gwirioni arno fe, dyna’r peth, mae hi ‘di cwympo dros ei phen a’i chlustiau mewn cariad â’r hen gono. Dyna beth mae’n ysbïwyr i, y ddwy gigfran gall ond chwit-chwat, Cof a Meddwl, yn ddweud wrtha i, ta be’.Well, there we are. We’re all growing up so quick, aren’t we? She’s a tall, strong, graceful girl now, who’ll be flying the nest soon enough. I think she’ll be going off with my friend the Viking because everyone needs someone besides them to set the world to rights, and the rest, when they get to be adults, and she writes poems and sends them to him on the sly. She’s mad for him, that’s the thing, she’s fallen head over heels in love with the old bugger. That’s what my spies, the two wise but unreliable ravens, Thought and Memory, tell me, anyway.
O’r braidd galla i ddychmygu bod hebddi hi, be’ fydda i’n mynd i ‘neud? Ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn rhaid i fywyd fynd yn ei flaen, on’ bydd, a gyda problemau daw cyfleoedd. Falle os dianc a ‘naiff hi, wel, wedyn, siŵr o fod, fe alla i gael hyd i ferch arall yn rhywle draw dros yr enfys, hyd yn oed os bydd yn rhaid i fi hwylio yno mewn llong Ficingaidd heb gymorth neb arall, neu hedfan ar ‘yn liwt ‘yn hun ar ryw wely wedi’i hyrddio yno gan ffrwydrad anferth! Wedi’r cwbl, chwaer hyfryd yw un peth, ond llawer gwell fyddai Tywysoges yn y cnawd, y peth go iawn, reit? O, fy Morwyn Ddihalog wedi’i bendigo saith gwaith, dere di ata i, eich Tywysog Swynol sy’n disgwyl!I can scarcely imagine being without her, what am I going to do? But then again, life must go on, mustn’t it, and with problems come opportunities. P’rhaps if she does escape, well, then, probably, I can find another girl somewhere over the rainbow, even if I have to sail there in a Viking ship without anyone else’s help, or fly under my own steam on some bed which gets flung there by a humungous explosion. After all, a lovely sister is one thing, but lots better would be a Princess in the flesh, the real deal, right? Oh, my Immaculate Virgin, seven-times blessed, come to me, your Charming Prince who awaits!
Fe fydd hi’n ferch mor bert, mor glyfar, mor bell, ac fe fydda i’n dwlu arni hi mor frwd. Nyrs neu rywbeth fel ‘ny, yr un ffunud â Mam sy wedi mynd, fydd hi, ta be’. Dw i’m yn nabod hi ‘to, er mod i’n breuddwydio amdani hi bob nos. Pan gwrddwn ni â’n gilydd am y tro cynta’, fe fydda i’n honni’r hawl i aros yno gyda hi, yn y tŵr o berl, mewn gwlad yn bell dros y môr, ble bynnag bydd ‘ny, ac fe fydd hi’n ‘y nghymryd i dan ei hadain fel ‘sai hi’n rhyw angel arallfydol.She’ll be a girl so pretty, so clever, so distant, and I’ll dote on her so fervently. She’ll be a nurse, or something like that, the spitting image as Mam who’s gone away, anyway. I don’t know her yet, although I dream about her every night. When we meet each other for the first time, I’ll claim the right to stay with her, in the tower of pearl, in a land far over the sea, wherever that shall be. And she’ll take me under her wind as if she was an angel from another world.
Ac yno fe fyddwn ni’n prancio, dan y pinwydd bythwyrdd yn nolau lledrithiol Aberdydd, o ble ddaeth ‘y nghyndadau’n wreiddiol, neu i ble aethon nhw, y wlad ‘na llawn pwcaod, a bendith y mamau, ac uncyrn, a chorachod, a chewri. Yn y dechrau, bydd hi’n bihafio’n debyg i chwaer hŷn, gan edrych ar ‘yn ôl i, ond wedyn, sawl mis yn hwyrach, bydd hi’n gwylltio arna i bob tro bydda i’n siarad lol. Ac wedyn, bydd hi’n dianc oddi wrtha i, gan redeg bant pan fydda i’n dynesu, dim ond i gwrsio ar ‘yn ôl i pan fydda i’n encilio.And there we’ll cavort under the evergreen pines in the phantom vales of Aberdydd, where my ancestors came from originally, or where they went to, in that land full of goblins, and fairy-folk, and unicorns, and dwarves, and giants. To begin with, she’ll behave like an older sister, looking after me, and then, several months late, she’ll get angry with me every time I talk nonsense. And then she’ll escape from me, running off when I get closer, only to chase after me when I retreat.
Fe all hi ddarllen ‘yn meddyliau, gan drio dod o hyd i’r holl gyfrinachau ynghylch ‘y mhersonoliaeth sy wedi’u cuddio mor ddwfn tu mewn i fi, fel ‘sai pwerau sbesial ‘da hi. Fe fydd hi’n adrodd chwedlau mor rhyfedd wrtha i, am garu, ac am dranc, ac yn ‘neud pethau secsi, y genawes fach, ac fe fydda i’n dwlu ar siarad â hi gymaint! Fydda i byth eisiau gadael ei hochr.She’ll be able to read my thoughts, trying to find all the secrets about my personality that have been hidden so deep inside me, like she has some special powers. She’ll recite such strange tales to me, about love-making, and about death, and do sexy things, the little vixen, and I’ll love talking to her so much! I’ll never want to leave her side.
Ac fe fyddwn ni’n chwarae gemau gyda’n gilydd – rwy’n dy garu di, sa i’n dy garu di, dw i’n dy garu di, nid wyf yn dy garu -- yr un peth drosodd a thro. Falle fydda i byth yn ei deall yn llwyr, achos bydd hi mor ddwys, mor ddifrifol, o bryd i’w gilydd. Ond fydd hi’m yn bosib cadw ‘yn hunan rhag meddwl amdani hi, ac fe fydd ‘y nheimladau ati’n tyfu bob dydd.And we’ll play games with each other – I love you, I love you not, I do love you, no I don’t love you – the same thing over and again. I’ll never understand her completely, as she’s so intense, so serious, sometimes. But I shan’t be able to keep myself from thinking about her, and my feelings towards her’ll grow stronger every day.
Heb gysgod o amheuaeth bydd hi eisiau symbylu’n ffyniant emosiynol, gan ‘yn helpu i i drawsffurfio’n llid yn heddwch, ac mae pawb yn dweud bod y fath beth yn bwysig iawn. A wi’n dychmygu bydd hi’n edrych arna i mor astud ar achlysuron, fel Meddyliaethydd proffesiynol, ond wedyn ‘y ngwawdio fi nes i fi bron â wylo.Without a shadow of a doubt she’ll want to urge on my emotional development, helping me to transform my anger into peacefulness, and everyone says that that kind of thing is very important. And I imagine she’ll look at me so intently on occasions, like a professional Mentalist, but then mock me until I almost cry.
Cyn gofyn i’w rhieni hi, y Dewin a’r Foneddiges, am ganiatâd i’w phriod i falle bydd yn rhaid i fi ddiodde’ diheurbrawf fel yn yr Hen Lyfr, gan roi’n llaw mewn dŵr berwedig, neu ddal haearn poeth. Bydd fel ‘sai hi’n ‘yn rhoi i ar brawf, gyda help ei frawd y Ficing, a bydda i angen ymladd gornestau yn erbyn gelynion erchyll fel yr Offeiriad Coch, a mynd i gyrchu pethau fel Pair Dadeni, Cleddyf Sorakados, y Siaced Fraith, a’r Seint Greal.Before asking her parents, the Wizard and the Lady, for permission to marry her perhaps I’ll have to undergo trial-by-ordeal like in the Old Book, putting my hand in boiling water, or holding onto hot iron. It’ll be like she’s put me to the test, with the help of her brother, the Viking, and I’ll need to fight contests against terrible enemies like the Red Priest, and go in quest of things like the Cauldron of Rebirth, the Sword of Sorakados, the Coat-of-Many-Colours, and the Holy Grail.
Ac wedyn pan fydda i wedi mynd â hi, fel marchog ar farch gwyn, fe fydda i’n ennill ei serch a chipio ei chalon hefyd. Wedi’r cwbl, a ddioddefws a orfu, medd rhywun, yr Hen Filwr ‘na, siŵr o fod. Ac yn y pen draw, fe fydd hi’n ildia i’n swyn i, ac fe fyddwn ni’n priodi, heb glebran am fabis a theuluoedd, fel gallwn ni garu, a charu, a dyna ni’n cwtsio a chusanu’n ffyrnig fel yn y ffilmiau gwirion ‘na i gyd! O, hir yw pob aros yn wir!And then when I’ve seized the day, like a knight in shining armour, I’ll win her love, and snatch her heart too. After all, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, says someone, that Old Soldier, probably. And in the end, she’ll yield to my charms, and we’ll marry, without blathering on about babies and families, so that we shall be able to make love, and then some more, cuddling and kissing like in all those soppy films! Oh, waiting is such sweet sorrow indeed!
Sa i’n medru darogan y dyfodol, dyw ‘ny ddim yn un o’n aml dalent (a dyna lawn cystal, sbo!), ond dyna ‘mreuddwyd gyson. Dyw’r hud ddim yn gweithio drwy’r amser, dyna’r unig broblem, y drwg yn y caws, ond rhaid i fi roi cynnig arni. Amser y lleuad lawn fydd orau iddi, a dyna pan fydd Dad bant, hefyd, diolch byth. Mae e’n mynd yn waeth drwy’r amser, yr hen fwli. Falle fe fydd e’n cael ei ladd y tro hwn, a daw yn ôl mewn bag corff. Teg dweud nage ceisio dod â fe’n ôl a wna i os dyna fydd yn digwydd!I can’t predict the future, that isn’t one of my many talents (and that’s just as well, s’pose!), but that’s my constant dream. The magic doesn’t work all the time, that’s the only problem, the fly in the ointment, but I’ve got to give it a whirl. Time of the full moon’s best for it, and that’s when Dad’ll be off, too, thank goodness. He’s getting worse all the time, the old bully. Maybe he’ll get killed this time, and come back in a body-bag. Fair to say I won’t be trying to bring him back if that’s what happens.
Ddylwn i’m gwastraffu amser, dyna beth mae’r Hen Filwr yn ddweud. A’r cam cynta’ yw meddwl am be’ ti eisiau mor galed ag fe allwch chi. Dw i angen bod yn ofalus, ‘te, gyda be’ wi’n meddwl amdano fe, achos bod ‘y mreuddwydion wastad yn tueddu i ddod yn wir. Dw i’n dod yn gyfarwydd â’r defodau nawr, a’r geiriau hud, a’r torri ‘yn hunan, a’r gwaed. Ac fe wn i bydda i’n teimlo sâl fel ci ar ôl cwpla, fe ‘swn i wedi marw, mewn ffordd, felly well i’r seremoni lwyddo. Tybed fydd y ddau ddymuniad yn cyfri’ fel un, w? Dal gafael yn y chwaer a hefyd cael hyd i gariad? Wel, fe fydda i’n byw mewn gobaith. Ta ta tan toc. Gadewch i ni weld, fel y dywedan nhw, yr hen frithgi di, w!I shouldn’t waste time, that’s what the Old Soldier says. And the first step is thinking about what I want as hard as you can. I gotta be careful, then, with what I think about, as my dreams always tend to come true. I’m getting used to the rituals now, and the magic words, and the cutting myself, and the blood. And I know I’ll feel sick as a dog after finishing, like I’ve died, in a way, so the ceremony’d better succeed. I wonder if the two wishes count as one, mun? Keeping hold of the sis and getting a girl too? Well, I’ll live in hope. Bye-bye for now. Let us see, as they say, you old mongrel, you!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 9

Pennod Tri Ar Ddeg: Esbonio (Lleisiau 9) / Explaining (Voices 9)

“Pa mor debyg i ddyddiau mis yw penodau’n hoedlau? … Dim ond cysgodion ein gweithrediadau barddol ydy’r meddyliau wedi’u mynegi trwy gyfrwng rhyddiaith … Ond er llenyddiaeth oll y Ddau Fyd, byw bywyd yn ddewr a heb ofn yw’r peth pwysicaf.” – o ‘Barddoni a Byw’ gan Yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar. “Trwy ddyfeisio, creasai ef egwyddor dirwedd.” – o ‘Pendil Foucault’ gan Umberto Eco.

“How like the days of a month are the episodes of our lives? … Only shadows of our poetic activities are the thoughts expressed through the medium of prose … But despite all the literature of the Two Worlds, living life bravely and without fear is the most important thing” – from ‘Poetry-making and Living’ by Professor Jelena Pekar. “Inventing, he had created the principle of reality.” – from “Foucault’s Pendulum” by Umberto Eco.

Cyn dechrau ar y trywydd troellog hwn, mae arnaf angen dweud bod pob gair yn yr adrodd hwn yn dod yn syth o geg y claf ei hun, y glaslanc gofidus a oedd yn defnyddio’r enw Daud Pekar (1978 – 2000) pan gyrhaeddodd y Clinig, ond a ddewisodd fabwysiadu’r enw amgen David Baxter o hynny ymlaen. Ond wedi dweud hynny, efallai mai gwell fyddai dweud mai’n ‘preswyliwr blaenaf’ ydoedd, ynteu’r ‘prif gymeriad’ yn y ddrama hon. Ar wahân i’w eiriau ei hun, nid oes fodd arall o wybod beth oedd cefndir y digwyddiadau a adroddir yma, gan fod y cymeriadau eraill un ai’n gwrthod, ynteu fethu, tystio.Before beginning on this twisting trail, I need to say that evey word in this report comes straight from the mouth of the patient himself, the troubled youth who was using the name Daud Pekar (1978 – 2000) when he arrived at the Clinic, but who chose to adopt the alternative name David Baxter from then on. But having said that, perhaps it would be better to say that he was our ‘formost resident,’ or the ‘main character’ in this drama. Apart from his own words, there is no other way to know what was the background to the events that are reported here, because the other characters either refuse, or are unable, to testify.
Cafodd, felly, y cymeriad o’r enw Daud, ei eni a’i fagu yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol, sydd wedi datblygu i fod y Wladwriaeth Ddwyreiniol Annibynnol bellach. Roedd Ivan, Tad Daud, yn ddeliwr cyffuriau adloniadol trwy’r cyfandir; a dyn treisgar, byrbwyll, heb asgwrn graslon yn perthyn iddo ydoedd yn wir. Pan na fyddai’n cludo’r sylweddau na’u gwerthu, fe lyncai feintiau anferth ohonynt. Pa beth bynnag oedd ei gymelliadau, lluniodd gyfundrefn gymhleth o ddefodau, wedi’u seilio ar goelion a ddaeth o hyd iddynt yn Hen Lyfrau Llên o bedwar ban byd, y byddai’n eu dwyn, a’u gwerthu ar y farchnad ddu. Saith oed oedd amser colynnol i Daud, pan ddaeth yr Annwyl Arweinydd i rym yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol. Gyda rhyfel ar yr orwel, aeth Ivan i gredu mai aberth dynol fyddai modd i ddod yn anfarwol. Ond gan ei fod mor ffwndrus wrth berfformio’r seremoni briodol, fe drosglwyddodd ei fywydau hudol i gyd i’w fab.So, the character named Daud was born and brought up in the Old Eastern Kingdom, which has become the Independent Eastern Commonwealth now. Ivan, Daud’s father, was a dealer in recreational drugs throughout the continent; and indeed he was a violent, rash man, without a gracious bone in his body. When he was not transporting or selling the substances, he would be imbibing enormous quantities of them. Whatever were his motives, he fashioned a complex system of rituals, based on beliefs he found in Old Books of Lore from the four corners of the world, which he would steal, and sell on the black market. Seven years old was a pivotal time to Daud, when the Beloved Leader came to power in the Old Eastern Kingdom. With war on the horizon, Ivan came to believe that human sacrifice would be a way to become immortal. But since he was so befuddled while performing the appropriate ceremony, he transferred all his magical lives to his son.
Daeth Ivan yn hurfilwr yng Nghalon y Cyfandir pan gychwynnodd y rhyfel yno, ac fe’i hadwaenid fel ‘Jak Mali Vrag’ (‘Ellyllyn Cryf’). Gorfodwyd y Daud ifanc, ar achlysuron, i fod yn dyst i erchyllterau gan ei Dad, pan rwymid plant o deuluoedd oedd yn dilyn dysgeidiaeth y Broffwydes mewn sachau (neu’n aml, mewn gorchuddion cwilt), cyn cael eu colbio neu’u gwanu gan aelodau’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang a’r Eglwys Annibynnol ill ddau. Ar adegau, yr oedd rhaid i’r bachgen gael gwared â’r offer gwaedlyd, a, gwael dweud, hyd yn oed y celanedd. Trwy weddill ei oes fer, dioddefai Daud gan hunllefau gwael o ganlyniad i’r digwyddiadau hyn. Gadewch inni beidio ag anghofio, ar y llaw arall, wrth reswm, mai Dilynwyr y Broffwydes a gyflwynai erchyllterau hefyd yn eu tro. Byddent yn rhoddi plant aelodau’r Eglwys yn gwisgo gŵn nosys hen-ffasiwn nes iddynt ymddangos fel penydwyr, mewn magnel, a’u taflu nhw trwy’r awyr i’w tranc.Ivan became a soldier-of-fortune in the Heart of the Continent when the war began there, and he was known as ‘Jak Mali Vrag’ (‘Strong Little Demon’). The young Daud was compelled, on occasions, to be a witness to atrocities by his Father, when children from families who followed the teachings of the Seeress were bound in sacks (or often, in quilt covers), before being beaten or stabbed both by members of the World-Wide Church and the Independent Church. On occasions, the boy had to get rid of the bloody instruments, and, terrible to say, even the corpses. Throughout the remainder of his short life, Daud would suffer from terrible nightmares as a result of these events. Let us not forget, on the other hand, of course, that the Followers of the Seeress also executed atrocities in their turn. They would place children of Church members wearing old-fashioned night-gowns so that they looked like penitents, in a trebuchet, and throw them through the air to their destruction.
Gwelodd Daud bai arno’i hun am farwolaeth ei Fam (a oedd yn gweithio fel nyrs), wedi dechrau’r rhyfel yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol. Yr oedd problemau difrifol wedi digwydd pan y’i ganwyd, ac yr oedd ei Fam yn sâl iawn byth oddi ar hynny. Fe gredai Daud fod rhyw Dduwdod wedi troi ei gefn arno (nid ydym wedi gallu canfod hyd yn hyn pa un yr oedd yn sôn amdano ar y pryd). Felly y datblygodd gasineb tuag at grefydd, er iddo ofni eto bechod a dialedd, a pharhau i wlychu’r gwely; o’r herwydd fe’i cosbwyd yn ddiarbed gan ei Dad. Er popeth oedd wedi digwydd, maentumiodd y mab ei fod yn parchu’r Tad, wrth ei gasáu’n gydamserol, gan mai ‘rhyfelwr dros ryddid’ ydoedd, a oedd yn ceisio gwella’r Ddaear (ynteu’r rhan ohoni yng nghyfyl Calon y Cyfandir o leiaf) trwy gymorth grymoedd arallfydol. Ac yn ôl yr hanes, dysgodd Daud gryn gyfrinachau trwy wylio’i Dad.Daud blamed himself for the death of his Mother (who was working as a nurse), after the start of the war in the Old Eastern Kingdom. Serious problems had occurred when he was born and his Mother was very ill after then. Daud believed that some Divinity had turned his back on him (we have not been able to discern up to now which one he was talking about at the time). So he developed a hated towards religion, although he yet feared sin and retribution, and continued to wet the bed; because of this he was punished relentlessly by his Father. Despite everything that would happen from then on, the son maintained that he respected the father, whilst hating him simultaneously, as he was a ‘freedom-fighter’, who was trying to improve the Earth (or the part of it in the vicinity of the Heart of the Continent at least) through the help of otherworldly forces. And according to the tale, Daud learned considerable secrets by watching his Father.
Ar ôl tranc ei Fam, gwarchodasid Daud gan ei chwaer, Jelena, enw, wrth gwrs, sy’n golygu ‘pinwydden fenyw’ (neu ‘ewig’) yn eu mamiaith. Ni fuasai neb o’i gwmpas yn dweud mai ‘hollol normal’ oedd ef; a chyffesu’r gwirionedd, byddent wedi dweud ei fod yn ‘dipyn o 'deryn,’ a rhy amlwg imi oedd ganddo broblemau cymdeithasol o ryw fath. Ac yna – trychineb yn dilyn yn dynn ar sodlau anhap – derbyniodd ef yn sgil yr arswydau oll, gynghori dwys gan ei ewythr, mynach yr Eglwys Annibynnol o’r Frawdoliaeth Gycyllog, a geisiodd ei gam-drin yn rhywiol.After the demise of his Mother, Daud was looked after by his sister, Jelena, a name, of course, which means ‘female pine’ (or ‘doe’) in their mother-tongue. No-one around him would have said that he was ‘totally normal’; and to confess the truth, they would have said he was a ‘bit of a lad,’ and it was only too obvious to me that he had social problems of some kind. And then – disaster following hard on the heels of misfortune – he received in the wake of all the other horrors, intensive counselling from his uncle, a monk of the Independent Church in the Cowled Brotherhood, who tried to sexually abuse him.
Oherwydd ei hanes, diarddelodd Daud drais, a daeth yn ‘filwr o heddychwr’ pan oedd tua 13 oed, yn hytrach na dilyn camre ei Dad, gan geisio achub bywydau bob adeg y gallai. Enillodd, yn ei farn, lawer o lwyddiannau trwy gymorth hud defodol wedi’i seilio ar ymarferion Ivan, a alwai ar i fodau rhyfedd ymrithio – endidau, fodd bynnag, a archai iawndal drudfawr yn y pen draw.Due to his history, Daud disavowed violence, and became a ‘pacifist fighter’ when he was 13, rather than following in his Father’s footsteps, trying to save lives every time he could. He secured, in his opinion, many successes through the help of ritual magic based on Ivan’s practices, which would summon strange beings to materialize – entities, however, which would seek very costly recompense in the end.
Y pryd hynny, roedd llanc dieithr o’r enw Stjepan Velikičovjek (‘Steffan Grossmann’), o’r Dywysogaeth Orllewinol Deyrngar, oedd yn aelod o’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang, yn byw mewn tlodi ger teulu Daud. Yr oedd arno eisiau ei ladd ei hun o ganlyniad i broblemau personol, mwy na thebyg, ac roedd yn cael ei fwlian yn enbyd hefyd gan Ivan a’r milwyr eraill. Yn ystod Brwydr y Llwyn Pinwydd, cipiodd Daud Stjepan o safn angau (sef ‘afon o dân’ o faint y darlledid amdano yn yr Hen Lyfr), ac aeth y ddau ymlaen i fod yn ffrindiau gorau, a chael llawer mwy o anturiaethau gyda’i gilydd.At that time, there was a foreign lad named Stjepan Velikičovjek (‘Steffan Grossmann’), from the Faithful Western Principality, who was a member of the World-Wide Church, living in poverty near Daud’s family. He wanted to kill himself as a result of personal problems, more than likely, and he was also bullied awfully by Ivan and the other soldiers. During the Battle of the Pine-Grove, Daud snatched Stjepan from the jaws of death (namely a ‘river of fire’ of proportions one would read about in the Old Book), and the two went on to be best friends, and have many more adventures together.
Noswyl pen-blwydd Daud yn 17 oed, lladdwyd ei Dad, ar ôl i fagl ffŵl a oedd wedi’i gosod dan ei fan ffrwydro y tu allan i Dŵr y Tŷ Glas yn y Weriniaeth Ddeheuol Niwtral. Er i’r mab, a oedd yno ar y pryd dim ond oblegid taerineb y dyn hŷn, oroesi’r ffrwydrad, anafwyd ef yn ddifrifol. O hynny ymlaen, fe brofai weledigaethau afieithus o achos y feddyginiaeth boen a gymerai.On the eve of Daud’s 17th birthday, his Father was killed, after a booby-trap that had been placed under his van exploded outside the Blue House Tower in the Neutral Southern Principality. Although the son, who was there at the time only at the insistence of the older man, survived the explosion, he was seriously injured. From then on, he would experience rapturous visions because of the pain medication he was taking.
Yr oedd Daud wedi dod i’r casgliad mai Aberdydd, y dref honno dros y môr a sefydlasid gan y Llychlynwyr ganrifoedd yn ôl, oedd cartref i’w wir berthnasau. Yr oedd wedi darllen llawer iawn am ein hanes, diwylliant, iaith, arferiadau, ac yn y blaen, gan benderfynu y byddai’n lle eithriadol o ddiddorol i fyw ynddo.Daud had come to the conclusion that Aberdydd, that town overseas that had been founded by the Norsemen centuries ago, was home to his true relatives. He had read a very great deal about our history, culture, language, customs, and so on, deciding that it would be an exceptionally interesting place to live in.
Daeth yr amddifad yn syth i Gymru’n ffoaduriaid, lle roedd yn byw dan y ffugenw ‘David Baxter.’ Trefnwyd popeth gan yr Hen Filwr, dan gochl dirgelwch llwyr, mewn stori glogyn a chyllell yn cynnwys defodau hudol ac aberth dynol, petasai dyn yn coelio’i ddisgrifiadau. Nifer ffodus ac anffodus i’n harwr Daud (ynteu David), ydoedd 17, felly.The orphan came straight to Wales as a refugee, where he was living under the pseudonym ‘David Baxter.’ Everything was arranged by the Old Soldier, under a cover of complete secrecy, in a cloak-and-dagger story involving magical rituals and human sacrifice, it one were to believe his descriptions. Seventeen was a number both fortunate and unfortunate for our hero Daud (or David), therefore.
Serch hynny oll, athrylith o fachgen oedd ef. Cyn ymadael â’i gartref, ei brif bleser fyddai cuddio yn yr ystafell wely gan wrando ar raglennu radio gan ein Hasiantaeth Ddarlledu Annibynnol Genedlaethol i ddysgu’n heniaith, Esboniodd ei fod yn teimlo mai blas hynafol ond cyfoes sydd arni, a edy i siaradwyr rhugl afael mewn rhyw rym hudol a wnelo â goroesi tranc ac ailgyfodi’r meirwon – campau a ddigwydd yn aml yn yr hen chwedlau, ac yn ei hoff nofelau graffig hefyd.Despite all that, he was a boy genius. before leaving his home, his chief pleasure would be hiding in the bedroom listening to radio programmes from our National Independent Broadcasting Agency to learn our archaic tongue. He explained that he felt it has an ancient yet contemporary flavour, which allows fluent speakers to grasp some magical power to do with surviving annihilation and resurrecting the dead – feats which happen often in the old tales, and in his favourite graphic novels too.
Fel yr wyf eisoes wedi egluro, yr oedd Daud yn gwirioni ar bopeth ynghylch Aberdydd, gan lyncu gwybodaeth cyn cyrraedd, ac ar ôl. Dyna pam mae cymaint o gyfeiriadau at Neuadd y Delweddau (‘Neuadd Aberdydd’ o hyn ymlaen) yn y penawdau fydd yn dilyn. Honnai fod tŵr Neuadd Aberdydd yn ei atgoffa o eiddo’r Tŷ Glas o hen fri yn y Weriniaeth Ddeheuol Niwtral. Yn wir, wedi ymsefydlu yma, ni allai ei atal ei hun rhag ymweld â’r lle sanctaidd hwn (yn ei dyb o leiaf). Wrth gwrs yr oedd yn credu mai dim ond efelychiad gwan o’r un o iawn yw Neuadd y Murluniau yma yn y plasty, gan fynegi’i farn mewn iaith halier bob tro y deuai i gwrdd â mi. A pham mae hyn? Gan fod y lluniau ar furiau’r Neuadd yn y dref yn fwy tebyg i gartwnau mewn rhyw lyfr comics penodol, na’r eiddom ni!As I have already explained, Daud doted on everything concerning Aberdydd, wolfing down information before arriving, and after. That is why there are so many references to the Hall of the Images (‘Aberdydd Hall’) in the chapters which will follow. He would claim that the tower of Aberdydd Hall reminded him of that of the Blue House of old renown in the Neutral Southern Principality. Indeed, having established himself here, he could not stop himself from visiting this sacred place (in his opinion at least). Of course, he thought that the Hall of the Murals here in the mansion is only a pale imitation of the real one, expressing his opinion in choice language every time he would come to meet with me. And why is this? Because the pictures on the walls of the Hall in the town are more like cartoons in some particular comic book, than ours!
Dyma sut y datblyga’r stori. Angenrheidiol cofio, fodd bynnag, mai dim ond brithgof o gyrbibion o’r gwir hanes yw’r nodiadau hyn i gyd. Nodwch, hefyd, os gwelwch chi’n dda, fod persbectif y naratif wedi newid bellach. Mwyach, gwelwn ni ddigwyddiadau’r gorffennol yng Nghalon y Cyfandir wedi’u traethu o safbwynt cymeriad o’r enw David Baxter sydd newydd gyrraedd y Clinig yma yn Aberdydd, ac yn edrych yn ôl dros olygfeydd o’i hen fywyd. Ac afraid dweud, fe fydd cydnabyddion newydd sbon David, sef Steffan, Helen, ac ati, a’u hanesion, eu gobeithion, eu gofidiau, a’u hawyddau, yr holl sefyllfa hynny yw, yn dylanwadu ar ei atgofion – ac ar sut y bydd yn ymddwyn – o hyn ymlaen.This is how the story develops. It is essential to remember, however, that all these notes are but a faded memory of fragments of the true tale. Note, also, if you please, that the perspective of the narrative has changed now. Henceforth, we shall see events of the past in the Heart of the Continent, narrated from the point of view of a character called David Baxter who has just arrived at the Clinic here in Aberdydd, and is looking back over scenes from his former life. And, needless to say, David’s brand-new acquaintances, namely Steffan, Helen, and so on, and their stories, their hopes, their worries, and their desires, the whole situation that is, will influence his memories – and how he behaves – from now on.

Pennod Pedwar Ar Ddeg: Cyfieithu (Lleisiau 10) / Translating (Voices 10)

Yn y bôn, mae siambr atsain acwstig yn lle gwag caeedig lle bydd seiniau’n diasbedain oddi ar y waliau drosodd a throsodd, gan ddwysáu a chael eu hystumio yn ystod y broses. Yn fwy diweddar, yr ydys yn defnyddio’r ymadrodd yn drosiadol, yn y cyfryngau’n enwedig, er mwyn cyfeirio at sefyllfa sydd yn cynnwys system gaeedig o bobl a chysyniadau. Yn y math hwn o amgylchedd bydd cyfathrebu’n golygu ailadrodd yr un set gyfyngedig o syniadau bob tro, fel mai’r coelion sydd eisoes yn bod a atgyfnerthir a chryfheir. Yma, oherwydd tuedd cadarnhad anymwybodol, hynny yw, tueddiad dynol i bobl chwilio am dystiolaeth sy’n cadarnhau eu credoau ac anwybyddu tystiolaeth arall, bydd y gohebyddion yn dewis dim ond y wybodaeth sydd yn cyd-fynd â’u safbwynt presennol. Yn y gymdeithas letach mae’r effaith siambr atsain yn arwain at lwytholdeb diwylliannol, polareiddiad gwleidyddol cynyddol, ac eithafiaeth. Ond nid yw’r effaith hon yn gweithredu’n waeth nag mewn rhai teuluoedd toredig, lle mae’r aelodau’n dweud tair stori: yr un a gyhoeddir wrth y byd; yr un a rhennir rhyngddynt; a’r hanes gwir. Mewn teulu toredig, nid oes gynulleidfa o gwbl ar gyfer y stori o iawn, gan ei bod yn bygwth chwalu’r ddelwedd deuluol gau. A dyna beth i’w osgoi, costied a gostio.

Basically, an acoustic echo chamber is an enclosed empty space where sounds reverberate off the walls over and over, intensifying, and being distorted during the process. More recently, the expression is being used metaphorically, in the media especially, in order to refer to a situation which includes a closed system of people and concepts. In this type of circumstance, communicating entails repeating the same restricted set of ideas all the time, such that it is the beliefs that already exist that are reinforced and strengthened. Here, because of unconscious confirmation bias, that is the human tendency for people to seek evidence that confirms their beliefs and to ignore other evidence, the correspondents will choose only the information which accords with their present viewpoint. In wider society, the echo-chamber effect leads to cultural tribalism, increasing political polarization, and extremism. But nowhere does this effect operate worse than in some broken homes, where the members tell three stories: the one which is proclaimed to the world; the one which is shared between them; and the true tale. In broken families, there is no audience for the real story, since it threatens to shatter the fake family image. And that is a thing to be avoided, whatever the cost.

Hei, yr hen frithgi di, w! Mae’r hen dwpsyn na, Ffred, y gofalwr neu beth bynnag yn y Clinig yn Aberdydd, wedi bod yn, wel, ‘cyfathrebu’ da fi unwaith to. Mae’n dweud fod e wedi dod o hyd i ryw ddogfen o Affrica neu rywle, a’i fod e’n drio’i chyfieithu hi, ond heb lwyddo. Pam ddylai dyn mewn oed eisiau neud y fath beth, dwn i’m, ond dyna ti, creadur od iawn yw e’n wir. Mae’n hala gormod o lawer o amser ar ofalu am ei gasgliad o chwilod llywaeth yn ‘y nhyb i, y bwystfilod drewllyd, atgas. Ta be, rhyw chwedl hynafol o Sansibar am folgodogion ewn a’u crochan hudol yw hi, hyd y gwela i. Wi di eistedd yn y tŷ bach am oriau (wel, hanner awr o leia) gan fwrw golwg dros y darn o bapur, neu femrwn, neu bapyrws, neu beth bynnag, a dw i’n gallu datgan yn bendant mod i’n gw’bod dyw hi ddim wedi’i sgrifennu yn Arabeg, na Kiswahili, na Saesneg.Hey, you old mongrel, mun! That old eejit, Fred, the caretaker or whatever in the Clinic in Aberdydd, has been, well, ‘communicating’ with me once again. He says he’s come across some document from Africa or somewhere, and he’s trying to translate it, but no success. Why a full-grown man should want to do such a thing, I dunno, he really is a dead odd character. He spends far too much time on looking after his collection of tame beetles in my opinion, the nasty stinky beasts. Anyway, it’s some ancient tale from Zanzibar about cheeky marsupials and their magic cauldron, as far as I can see. I’ve sat in the lavvy for hours (well, half an hour at least) casting an eye over the piece of paper, or parchment, or papyrus, or whatever, and I can declare definitively that I know it’s not written in Arabic, or Kiswahili, or English.
Ar ôl yr holl waith caled na (yr ystyried, nage’r peth arall!), fe weddodd Ffred wrtha i taw Asa o ogledd Tansania yw’r iaith. Wel tipyn o arbenigwr mewn ieithoedd estron dw i, fel mae’n digwydd, a dw i hyd yn oed yn well gyda dyfeisio straeon. Ac fe fydd unrhyw beth yn well na neud y gwaith cartre diflas i’r hen gythraul drewllyd na yn ôl yn yr ysgol. O, cymaint dw i’n casáu’r dosbarthiadau mathemateg uffernol na, w! Ac fe fydda i’n ennill ugain punt os galla i berswadio Ffredi-boi bod popeth yn gywir. Felly, darllenwch ymlaen, ffrindiau, i glywed hanes gwarthus y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog! (Gyda llaw, ro’n i’n anghywir am y manylion, a’r teitl, i ddechrau) —After all that hard work (the considering, not the other thing!), Fred told me that the language is Asa from North Tanzania. Well, I’m a bit of an expert in foreign languages, as it happens, and I’m even better at inventing stories. And anything’s better than doing the boring homework for that old stinky devil, back in the school. O how much I hate those hellish maths classes, mun! And I’ll win twenty quid if I can persuade Freddy-boy that everything’s correct. So, read on, friends, to hear the shameful story of the Boisterous Red Monkeys! (By the way, I was wrong about the details, and the title, to start off with) —
"Unwaith, ddim yn hir yn ôl, ddim yn bell oddi yma, ar Ynys Sansibar, roedd grŵp bach bach o fwncïod cochion, Procolobus kirkii a bod yn fanwl gywir. Ro’n nhw mewn perygl mawr o ddiflannu oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear gron hon, er eu bod yn byw yno fel un teulu gweddol hapus mewn ffordd o siarad, gyda mam a thad, Mag a Jog, merch, Eg, dau ffrind, Steg a Dag, a thad-cu hefyd, Ig (ond fe fydden nhw i gyd yn dweud ‘Wncwl Ig’ jyst i ddrysu pethau), ond do’n nhw ddim yn perthyn at ei gilydd fel mewn teulu go iawn a dweud y gwir. Un o’r bechgyn oedd yn lico’r merch, a hi oedd yn ffansïo’r crwt arall, a’r trydydd llanc ‘ma oedd yn dwlu ar y bachgen cynta’. Ro’n nhw i gyd wastad yn chwarae castiau, achos taw mwncïod hwyliog o’n nhw heb os. Chi’n gwybod sut greaduriaid yw’r rhain, on’d dych chi?“Once upon a time, not long ago, not far from here, on the Isle of Zanzibar, there was a small troupe of red monkeys, Procolobus kirkii to be totally correct. They were in great danger of disappearing off the face of this round Earth, although they lived there like one reasonably happy family in a manner of speaking, with a mum and dad, Mag and Jog, a daughter, Eg, two friends, Steg and Dag, and a grand-dad, too, Ig (although they would all say ‘Uncle Ig’ just to confuse things), but they didn’t belong together like in a real family to tell the truth. One of the boys liked the girl, and she fancied the other kid, and the third lad there was crazy about the first boy. They were always up to mischief, because they were boisterous monkeys without a doubt. You know what kind of critters those are, don’t you?
"Yn yr hen ddyddiau, roedd ‘na gyflenwad toreithiog o gnau coco ar gyfer y mwncïod, oedd yn beth da, achos bod pawb yn meddwl eu bod nhw’n eithriadol o flasus, ac iachus hefyd. Ac ar ben hynny, doedd neb yn hoff iawn o fangrofau, ac mewn gwirionedd, roedd y ffrwythau ‘ma’n codi pwys arnyn nhw; falle bod nhw’n alergaidd iddyn nhw. Pwy allai ddweud, ‘sdim meddygon i ofalu am fwncïod, hyd yn oed rhai ciwt, clyfar, a diddorol, peidiwch chi â bod mor dwp!“In the old days, there was an abundant supply of coconuts for the monkeys, which was a good thing, because everyone thought they were exceptionally tasty, and healthy to boot. And on top of that, no-one was very keen on mangroves, and in truth, those fruits made them sick; perhaps they were allergic to them. Who could say, there’s no doctors to look after monkeys, even cute, clever, and interesting ones, don’t you be so stupid!
"Ond aeth y ffermwyr ar yr ynys mor grac o weld eu cefndyr coedwigol yn gwledda ar eu cnydau, fe fydden nhw’n saethu ar antur ar y creaduriaid annwyl drwy gydol y dydd. Ond heini ac ystwyth oedd y bwbachod, a ddihangai’n rhwydd, ac felly roedd ar y ffermwyr angen codi muriau enfawr o gwmpas y palmwydd ac arnyn nhw weiren rasel, i gadw’r lladron ewn mas.“But the farmers on the island got so mad to see their arboreal cousins feasting on their crops, that they would take pot-shots at the dear creatures all day long. But lithe and lissom were the bugbears, who easily escaped, and so the farmers needed to put up enormous walls around the palms with razor-wire on them, to keep the cheeky thieves out.
"A dyna oedd yn peri penbleth mawr, a dweud y lleia’, i arwyr ein hanes ni, oedd yn dechrau newynu. Dyna oedd y dynion yn cweryla drwy’r amser ynghylch sut i ddod o hyd i ddigon o gnau coco. Fe fyddai un ohonyn nhw’n astudio’n astud yn y llyfrgelloedd prin, y tafarnau dibrin, a’r tai ciando croesawgar ar y tir mawr yng ngogledd Tansania wrth i’r llall fynd bant i frwydro neu ddwyn pethau, neu i werthu sbeisys sbesial i fodau dynol gwirion dros y môr, a arferai eu rhoi nhw lan eu trwynau gan amlaf, fel petai’n rhyw fath o snisin dieithr, egsotig, ac afresymol o ddrud.“And that caused a big problem, to say the least, to the heroes of our tale, who began to starve. The men were quarrelling all the time about how to find enough coconuts. One of them would study keenly in the scarce libraries, the plentiful watering-holes, and the welcoming flop-houses on the mainland in Northern Tanzania whilst the other went off to fight or steal things, or to sell special spices to stupid human beings overseas, who used to put them up their noses, for the most part, as if it were some sort of foreign, exotic, and exorbitantly expensive snuff.
"Tra oedd y brwydro a’r fusnes cludo sbeis yn braf a phroffidiol iawn i dad-cu (o’r enw Wncwl Ig, wrth gwrs), dim ond yr hen iaith Asa ro’n nhw’n siarad yn y sefydliadau addysg uwch wedi’u crybwyll o’r blaen. Ac roedd yr iaith honno, gan gynnwys ond ychydig eiriau roedd yr henuriaid yn arfer eu defnyddio amser maith yn ôl, ar farw. Oherwydd hynny, lwyddodd y tad ddim i ddysgu dim byd, ac eithrio, efallai, y ddihareb: “Ilat ‘ore’ek buxurita ga, ma’a wataka rakash, wat dah hajat, ‘agim yataa kite” – “Pan fydd y llygad pell wedi llosgi’r cymylau, nes y sychir y dŵr oll, wedyn crafu’r Ddaear fel cŵn a wnawn ni, i fwyta ac yfed cyn marw.” Ond eto i gyd, doedd e ddim yn sicr o gwbl.“Whilst the fighting and the spice-transport business was fine and most profitable to the grand-dad (called Uncle Ig, of course), they only spoke the old Asa language in the institutions of higher education mentioned before. And that language, containing only a few words that the elders were accustomed, to use a long time ago, was on the point of dying. Because of that, the father did not succeed in learning a thing, except, maybe, from the proverb: “Ilat ‘ore’ek buxurita ga, ma’a wataka rakash, wat dah hajat, ‘agim yataa kite” – “When the far eye buns the clouds, so that all the water is dried up, then like dogs we shall claw the Earth, to eat and drink before we die.” But then again, he really was not sure at all.
Pechod adrodd nad oedd popeth yn fêl ac yn fefus yn llwyni’r Baradwys Ddaearol, chwaith. Tra oedd dynion y nyth oddi cartre’, fe fyddai’r fam yn rhedeg bant gyda ffrind blewog arall oedd wedi bod yn gyfaill i un o’r gwŷr, i gael tipyn o hwyl a chysur yn ystod y nosweithiau hir, unig, ddylem ni ddweud? Ac wrth gwrs dyna oedd yn broblem enfawr i bawb pan ddaeth y misdimanars i gyd i’r fei o’r diwedd. Ni wyddai neb a fydden nhw’n mynd ai’n dod. Yn wir, aeth yr holl sefyllfa’n ffrwydrol yn y pen draw.“It is a shame to report that it was not all a bed of roses in the groves of the Earthly Paradise, either. Whilst the men of the nest were away from home, the mother would run off with another hairy friend who’d been a mate of one of the blokes, to have a bit of fun and reassurance during the long, lonely nights, should we say? And of course, that was an enormous problem to everyone when all the shenanigans came to light at last. No-one knew whether they were coming or going. Indeed, the whole situation became explosive in the end.
"Nawr, wrth i’r llanc mwya’ dorri cartŵns ar risgl y coed o gwmpas y lle, roedd y ferch yn brysur brysur yn neud pwy a ŵyr beth. Fe fyddai hi’n brasgamu ar hyd ac ar led yn y fforest gan adrodd barddoniaeth. Wrth gwrs fe fyddai mam yn achub y cyfle ‘ma i din-droi lan coed rhyw fwnci arall, gan fwynhau sgyrsiau hyfryd yn lle neud y gwaith tŷ (dyna oedd swydd i’r dynion, meddai hi). Ond nage Mag yn unig oedd yn manteisio ar y rhyddid, ond Eg hefyd, a fyddai’n diflannu’n aml gydag un o’r bois i Fan-di-nam, ar wahân i’r amser pan aeth hi unwaith ar ei phen ei hunan am wythnos gron.“Now, while the bigger lad carved cartoons on the bark of trees around the place, the daughter was very busy doing who-knows-what. She would stride up and down in the forest, reciting poetry. Of course, mother would seize this opportunity to dawdle up the tree of some other monkey, enjoying lovely chats instead of doing the house-work (that was a job for men, she said). But it was not only Mag who was taking advantage of the freedom, but Eg too, who would often disappear with one of the boys to No-fault-here, apart from the time when she went, once, on her own for a whole week.
"Fel sy’n digwydd yn aml mewn sefyllfaoedd o’r fath hwn, roedd rhaid i’r crwt lleia’ ddatrys y broblem, ennill y wobr, a goresgyn yr anawsterau. Tra byddai’r gweddill yn gwastraffu amser drudfawr, fe âi fe mas ymhlith trigolion y goedwig gan chwilio am atebion. Y mwnci a gerddo a gaiff, oedd ei arwyddair. Ac ym Man-di-nam, fe lwyddodd yr un mwnci clyfar ‘na i ddysgu gan ryw hen wraig hysbys frodorol o’r enw El-en Tw-wr, gyfrinach neu ddwy ar sut i ffermio’r cnau coco gorau erioed i’w gweld yr ochr ‘ma i India, gan ddefnyddio gwyrthiau technolegol wedi’u cyflwyno gan lwyth o swynwyr arallfydol yn ôl pob sôn.“As happens often in situations of this sort, it was up to the smallest kid to solve the problem, win the prize, and overcome the difficulties. While the rest were squandering valuable time, he would go out amongst the forest-dwellers seeking answers. The monkey who seeks shall find, was his watch-word. And in No-fault-here, that same clever monkey succeeded in learning from some old native wise-woman named El-en Tw-wr, a secret or two on how to farm the best ever coconuts to be seen this side this side of India, using technological miracles introduced by a tribe of extra-terrestrial wizards, apparently.
"Sa i’n gallu sôn amdani yma mwyach ar boen ‘y mywyd, ond digon dweud fe gaeth e rysáit symla’r byd yn esbonio sut i dyfu’r cnau coco mwya’, blasua’, caleta’, melysa’, a mwya’ blewog, yn rhad ac am ddim, drwy ddefnyddio dim ond sylweddau hollol naturiol ac adnewyddadwy, oedd ar gael i bob mwnci iach ar alwad, mwy neu lai! (Fydda i ddim yn gollwng y sarff o’r fagl ymlusgiad os datgela i fod angen i’n teulu hapus o brimatiaid ni fwyta llawer iawn o gnau coco, ac wedyn aros am sbel, cyn i’r hud biolegol ddechrau gweithio.) Ac wedyn fe gaeth yr anifail cyfrwys syniad, a llunio cynllun.“I cannot mention it further here on pain of death, but sufficient to say that he got the world’s simplest recipe explaining how to grow the biggest, tastiest, hardest, sweetest, and hairiest coconuts, totally free, by using only totally natural and sustainable substances, which were available more-or-less on demand to every healthy monkey! (I won’t be letting the snake out of the reptile trap if I reveal that our happy family of primates needed to eat a very great deal of coconuts, and then wait for a while, before the biological magic began to work.) And then the cunning animal had an idea, and fashioned a plan.
"Fe barablai’r mwnci goleuedig ‘na’n huawdl am beth oedd e wedi’i ddarganfod, a gadawyd gan y ffermwyr i’r teulu bach ddod i mewn i’r lle caeedig yn gyfreithlon am y tro cynta’ i’w helpu nhw i foderneiddio’r proses cynhyrchu. Fe fydden nhw’n darparu gwasanaethau o bob math o amgylch y gweithfeydd newydd wrth allu llowcio cymaint o’r cynnyrch ag a fynnen nhw. Ac yr oedd y sgîl-effeithiau’n hawdd eu rhagweld, o un safbwynt, ac eithriadol o werthfawr hefyd, ond nage yn y ffordd a fwriadwyd o bersbectif arall.“That enlightened monkey chattered eloquently about what he’d discovered, and the small family was allowed by the farmers to come into the stockade legally for the first time to help them to modernize the production process. They would provide services of all kinds about the new works whilst being able to gobble down as much of the produce as they wanted. And the side-effects were easy to foresee, from one point-of-view, and exceptionally worthwhile too, but not in the way that was intended, from another perspective.
"Gyda llwyddiant enfawr y dull newydd o ffrwythloni, roedd rhaid i’r gweithwyr blewog lafurio’n galetach galetach, ond do’n nhw ddim yn cael eu talu digon o’r cynnyrch blasus achos bod yr amaethwyr llechwraidd yn debyg i gribinwyr crebachlyd. Ac ymhellach ‘naethon nhw drin y gweision druan fel y naethai’r Hen Frenhinoedd drin ei bobl filenia yn ôl. Doedd ‘na ddim digon o amser sbâr i orwedd mewn hamog ‘chwaith gan chwarae bili-ffŵl ac yfed jin a thonic. Felly ro’n nhw’n mynd yn flinedig ofnadw’ a achosai iddyn nhw ollwng hanner y cnau coco, fyddai’n torri’n yfflon. Wrth gwrs, fel y gwyddoch chi, gobeithio, fe fydd y palmwydd yn tyfu i fod tua 30 medr o daldra, felly pan gwympai’r cnau enfawr i lawr ar bennau’r gweithwyr dynol diog isod, dyna oedd dau fath o gnau’n cael eu torri!“With the enormous success of the new method of fertilisation, the hairy workers had to labour harder and harder, but they weren’t being paid enough of the tasty produce because the sneaky agriculturalists were like shrivelled-up misers. And moreover, they treated the poor slaves as the Ancient Kings had treated their people millennia ago. There wasn’t enough spare time to lie in a hammock either, playing the fool and drinking gin and tonic. So they were getting awfully tired, which caused them to drop half of the coconuts, which would break into smithereens. Of course, as you know, I hope, palm-trees grow to be about 30 metres tall, so when the enormous nuts fell down onto the heads of the lazy human workers below, then there were two kinds of nuts being broken!
"Roedd ‘na ganlyniadau annisgwyl eraill hefyd. Gan na allai’r mwncïod fwyta llawer o achos diffyg amser ac awydd, cymaint oedd eu blinder, do’n nhw ddim yn cynhyrchu digon o wrtaith organig a dyna gâi effaith wael ar y cnydau’n ddigon buan. Ymhellach, roedd tensiynau rhwng aelodau’r criw blewog yn cynyddu, o ganlyniad i’r casgliad hwn o amgylchiadau gofidus, gyda’r un yn ymosod ar y lleill gan ddefnyddio geiriau anfoesgar, a dyrnau, a dannedd miniog, a chnau coco wedi’u taflu. Hyd yn oed yn waeth oedd pan sylweddolodd pawb fod mam wedi bod yn gwerthu sbeis ar y slei heb yn wybod i neb.“There were other unexpected consequences too. As the monkeys couldn’t eat a lot due to lack of time and appetite, so great was their exhaustion, they weren’t producing enough organic fertilizer and that had a terrible effect on the crops soon enough. Furthermore, tensions between members of the hairy crew were growing, as a result of this collection of troubling circumstances, with the one setting about the others using rude words, and fists, and sharp teeth, and chucked coconuts. Even worse was when everyone realised that mother had been selling spice on the sly without anyone knowing.
"Un dydd poeth a chreulon pan oedd pawb wedi bod wrthi’n gweithio heb stop ers oriau, roedd y mwnci ieuenga’n seibio lan yn y to am funud i gael mwgyn bach o ddail banana sych, a joch o’r wisgi Cymreig gorau (o’r enw Wiliam Owen o Fala) pan adawodd i’r sigarét syrthio i lawr y ffatri. Wel, roedd y lle’n llawn dop o wrtaith mynci, a blawd llif, a chnau coco wedi’u stacio, a sbwriel, a phetrol wedi’i ollwng o’r generadur hynafol, a phethau fel ‘na. Heb raid dweud, ffrwydrodd yr adeilad ar unwaith a phopeth ynddo hefyd, yn cynnwys y mwncïod i gyd, siŵr o fod, mewn fflach lachar a chawod o gnau coco drylliedig.“One hot and cruel day when everyone had been at it working non-stop for hours, the youngest monkey paused up in the roof for a minute to have a quick smoke of dried banana-leaf, and a tod of the finest Welsh whiskey (called William Own of Bala) when he let the cigarette fall to the factory floor. Well, the place was stuffed full of monkey fertiliser, and sawdust, and stacked coconuts, and rubbish, and petrol spilled from the ancient generator, and things like that. Needless to say, the building exploded at once and everything in it too, including all the monkeys, probably, in a blinding flash and a shower of shattered coconuts.
"Ond nid dyna ben ar ein stori rybuddiol ni. Wrth i’r tîm o lafurwyr gorfodol fwyta’r coconyts anaeddfed, ro’n nhw’n creu mwy o le i’r planhigion eraill a adawyd ar ôl dyfu’n gryf ynddo. Ar ôl y ffrwydrad a wasgarodd dom ar hyd y lle, aeth y tyfiant yn wyllt am sbel ond o’r diwedd roedd y tir yn orchuddiedig, a dyna a ddifethai’r cnwd yn llwyr o hynny ymlaen. Achos taw atyniad twristiaid pwysig oedd y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog, ar ôl eu tranc, yn fuan y diflannodd y fasnach ymweld oddi ar yr ynys hefyd.“But that’s not the end of our cautionary tale. While the team of slave-labourers ate the organic coconuts, they were creating more space for the other plants that were left behind to grow vigorously in. After the explosion, which scattered manure all over the place, the vegetation went wild for a while but finally the land was overgrown, and that’s what destroyed the crop entirely from then on. Since the Boisterous Red Monkeys were an important tourist attraction, after their demise the sight-seeing industry soon disappeared off the island too.
"Ac wrth gwrs, dyma darddiad y dywediad byd-enwog, ‘Oni thelwch i fwnci ei gyflog cymwys, dim ond cnau wedi’u torri a gewch.’ Er gwaetha’r ffaith bod y chwedl hon yn dod atoch chi, ble bynnag y boch, o Berfeddion Affrica Dywyll (wel, o ynys oddi ar ei harfordir dwyreiniol), pwysig iawn i chi i gyd ddwyn y neges ‘ma mewn cof bob amser, hefyd, on’d ife, bobol bach? Ac, i orffen, on’d dych chi eisiau gofyn – beth am y mwnci bach, mab i Eg a Dag (falle), impyn llinell y Cochion, oedd yn cael ei fagu ym Man-di-nam gan El-en? A, ond rhy hwyr ydych chi erbyn hyn, ffrindiau chwilfrydig. Rhaid i chi aros i weld.”“And of course, that’s the derivation of the wold-famous saying, ‘Unless you pay a monkey his appropriate wage, all you’ll get is cracked nuts.’ Despite the fact that this tale comes to you, wherever you may be, from the Darkest Depths of Africa (well, from an island off its eastern coast), it’s very important for all of you always to bear this message in mind, too, isn’t it, folks? And, to finish, don’t you want to ask – what about the little monkey, son to Eg and Dag (perhaps), scion of the Red line, who was being brought up in No-fault-here by El-en? Ah, but you’re too late by now, inquisitive friends. You’ll have to wait to see.”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 11

Pennod Pymtheg: Disgwyl (Lleisiau 11) / Awaiting (Voices 11)

Fe fwria golau a gwrthrychau gysgodion, ac fe fwria Dewiniaid hudion. A allem ddweud, felly, mai hanfodion lledrithiol yw cysgodion, ac mai teclyn ardderchog ar gyfer trawsffurfio hudol fyddai trafod symbolau a delweddau wedi’u creu, fel petai, â chysgodion, yn cynnwys egni cylchol y lleuad a sylwedd cyfnewidiol y môr? Wedi’r cwbl, o safbwynt gwyddonol mae’n ddigon posibl mai o’r môr yn wreiddiol y daeth hynafiad pob ffurf ar fywyd sydd yn bodoli ar y ddaear heddiw. Yn ogystal, nid oes gwadu bod cysylltiad cryf rhwng y lleuad a’r llanwau. O ystyried llên gwerin, mytholeg, ac ofergoelion, mae pobl yn credu ers milenia y gall y lleuad ennyn amhwylledd, a pheri i fodau dynol chwannog fynd yn fleidd-ddynion. Ac at hynny, bydd llawer o seremonïau o bedwar ban byd yn digwydd dan oleuni’r lleuad i ddal a defnyddio ei bŵer cyfriniol, a fyddwn ni’n eu labeli ai’n rhai crefyddol, ai’n rhai hudol. Ac at hynny, bydd llawer o seremonïau o bedwar ban byd yn digwydd dan oleuni’r lleuad i ddal a defnyddio ei bŵer cyfriniol, a fyddwn ni’n eu labeli ai’n rhai crefyddol, ai’n rhai hudol. Efallai, felly, mai dim ond bod yng ngŵydd y lleuad wrth iddi lewyrchu dros wyneb y môr, os byddwch mewn cyflwr meddwl neilltuol, neu stad ddwysach o ymwybod, fydd yn ddigon i gychwyn cyfres o ddigwyddiadau fydd yn datblygu megis adwaith cadwynol. A phwy a ŵyr i ble y bydd y cyfryw daith gaotig yn arwain?

Light and objects cast shadows, and Magicians cast spells. Could we say, therefore, that shadows are spectral essences, and that an excellent tool for magical transformation would be dealing with symbols and images created, as it were, from shadows, containing the cyclical energy of the moon, and the ever-changing substance of the sea? After all, from a scientific viewpoint it is quite possible that the ancestors of every life-from that exists on the earth today came from the sea originally. In addition, it cannot be denied that there is a connection between the moon and the tides. Considering folk-lore, mythology, and superstitions, people have believed for millennia that the moon can elicit mental confusion, and cause susceptible human beings to become werewolves. And, moreover, many ceremonies from all over the world take place under the light of the moon in order to capture and utilize its mystical power, whether we label them as religious, or as magical. Perhaps, therefore, it is but sufficient to be in the presence of the moon as it shines over the surface of the ocean, if you are in a particular mental state, or a heightened state of awareness, to begin a series of events that will develop like a chain reaction. And who knows where such a chaotic journey will lead?

Nos – gyfrwys, greulon, grafangog – sy’n ymgodi uwch dy ben di, David bach, gan fygwth llyncu, dileu, claddu. Lan yn yr awyr borffor, afluniaidd – y siôl sidan, rwygedig honno – mae llais cryg y lleuad yn clebran, mewn tafodiaith farw, na ellir ei chyfieithu. Mae pelydrau lleuad, candryll a miniog, sy’n cael eu geni, a fydd yn marw hefyd, ar wyneb garw’r môr, yn amneidio arnat ti. Mae’r baneri bratiog ar y promenâd yn cadw sŵn fel seiren hiraethus, wrth geisio dianc rhag pigau’r gwynt wedi hen alaru, gan dy rybuddio rhag boddi mewn lagŵn dychmygol o fraw. Dim ond ffôl fyddai’n ymlid ei gysgod, ac wedyn ei ofni, ond rywbryd, heno, mae pethau’n hollol wahanol, rhywsut, ac rwyt ti wedi dy orchuddio gan flanced o gywilydd ac anobaith. “Wela i di’n nes ‘mlaen, ‘yn mab, paid di â phoeni. Fe fyddwn ni’n hala tipyn o amser gyda’n gilydd pan ddo’ i’n ôl,” dyna beth oedd e wedi’i ddweud yn watwarus, y Brawd tew, chwyslyd, atgas, wrth i ti sefyll yn stond ar ben y staer. Ac fel arfer, rwyt ti’n teimlo’n hollol wag, a dwyt ti ddim yn gwybod beth ar y Ddau Fyd i’w ‘neud.Night – cunning, cruel, clawed – rears up above you, Davy-boy, threatening to devour, destroy, bury. Up in the deformed, purple sky – that torn silk shawl – the moon’s hoarse voice is chattering, in a dead dialect, that can’t be translated. Moon-beams, shattered and sharp, which are being born, and will die, too, on the ocean’s rough surface, are beckoning you. The tattered banners on the promenade are making a noise like a wistful siren, whilst trying to escape from the beaks of the long-exhausted wind, warning you against drowning in an imaginary lagoon of fear. Only a food would chase his shadow and then fear it, but sometimes things are totally different, somehow, and tonight, you are covered by a blanket of shame and despair. “See you later on, my son, don’t you worry. We’ll spend a bit of time together when I come back,” that’s what he’d mockingly said, the fat, sweaty, hateful Brother, while you stood stock-still at the top of the stairs. And as usual, you’re feeling totally empty, and you don’t know what in the Two Worlds to do.
Rwyt ti wedi bod yn cyrcydu o flaen y ffenest fawr byth oddi ar hynny, ac erbyn hyn mae dy ben-gliniau’n cwyno, wrth erfyn ar y wybren ddofn, ddi-sêr, am drugaredd. Ond mae’r lleuad yn dal i chwerthin am ben y dirwedd lom, o ble mae’r Hen Dduwiau wedi’i heglu hi amser maith yn ôl. Mae dy ên di’n pwyso ar dy freichiau wedi’u croesi, sy’n siglo ar fin y silff aflêr – ac wrth i’th feddwl grwydro, rwyt ti’n rhythu allan i’r storm – ond, ar beth? Mae rhywbeth yno, tu allan, yn aros, yn llawn digofaint cronedig, ac mae’n crafu a nadu’n hir ac yn uchel mewn rhwystredigaeth. Un llais arall, digyffro ond calonogol, sy’n rhannu dy unigrwydd, wedi cripian i’th ymennydd o hirbell, o wlad ddieithr, hardd, yn rhywle dros y môr, drwy hisian statig y radio.You’ve been squatting in front of the big window ever since then, and by now your knees are complaining, whilst beseeching the deep, starless sky, for mercy. But the moon is still laughing at the bleak landscape, from where the Old Gods have legged it long ago. Your chin’s resting on your crossed arms, which are jiggling on the edge of the messy sill – and as your mind wanders, you stare out into the storm – but, at what? There’s something there, outside, waiting, full of pent-up wrath, and it’s scratching and braying long and loud in frustration. One other voice, impassive but heartening, shares your loneliness, having crawled into your mind from afar, from a beautiful foreign land, somewhere overseas, trough the radio’s static hissing.
[Radio] “Ryw’n sefyll yn falch, fy maen gwyn noeth yn wynebu’r môr mawr ar yr ochr dde, a’r dref wedi’i threfnu’r tu ôl. Mae gennyf rwndwalau cedyrn yn y parcdir trwsiadus, diaddurn, sydd yn estyn o’m hamgylch, ac yma gwarchodir mi gan binwydd sydd yn gwylio bob amser. O ddydd i ddydd, byddaf yn clywed aroglau cymysgedd meddwol o elfennau – ewyn hallt ac arno sawr gwymon, petrol, osôn; deilbridd sych newydd ei ddyfrhau gan y glaw; a chawl dinas o fwrllwch llawn o garbon monocsid, huddygl, a chyfansoddion o nitrogen, sylffwr, a phlwm. Yn aml bydd fy nghroen yn troi’n llwyd tywyll am ei bod hi wastad yn pistyllio ar yr arfordir hwn, gan fwrw glaw trwm ond twym o’r de-orllewin ar bob cwr o’r lle. Ac wedyn yr af fi’n wyn eto am gyfnod byr, cyn i’r gylchred barhau. A hefyd mae ‘na wythiennau gwyrddlas i’w gweld yn igam-ogamu fel nadredd a 'sgaldanwyd, o’r rhodenni mellt o gopr a osodir yn fy muriau.”[Radio] “Proudly I stand, my bare white stone facing the great sea on the southern side, with the town arrayed behind. I have firm foundations in the unadorned, tidy parkland which extends around me, and here I am guarded by pine-trees which are always watching. From day to day, I smell an intoxicating mixture of elements – salty spray with the smelling of seaweed, petrol, ozone; dry humus just watered by the rain; and a city-soup of smog full of carbon monoxide, soot, and compounds of nitrogen sulfur, and lead. Often, my skin turns dark grey as it is always pouring with rain on this coast, bringing heavy but warm rain from the south-west down on every corner of the place. And then I become white again for a short while, before the cycle continues. And also, there are blue-green veins to be seen, zig-zagging like scalded snakes from the copper lightning-rods set into my walls.”
Dyma dy ben-gliniau di’n brifo, yn enwedig fel byddan nhw’n ‘neud pan fyddi di yn y Lle Cwrdd. Rwyt ti’n aros, gwynio, disgwyl. Dyma dy galon yn rasio tu mewn i’th frest dynn, a wasgir gan ofn gwyllt. Un o’r gloch yw hi, ni ddylai crwt sy’n un ar ddeg oed ddim bod ar ddihun eto, yr adeg hon o’r nos. Penlinio, dolurio, aros yr wyt. Mae dy warchodwraig, neu efallai ceidwad y carchar (ddylem ni ddweud?), sydd mor garedig, a ffyrnig, a chyfareddol, y dywysoges arallfydol honno fydd byth yn dy adael di, yn cysgu’n dawel yn ei gwely'r drws nesa’, diolch byth. A dyma ti’n disgwyl, gwrando, gweddïo.Your knees hurt, exactly like they do when you’re in the Gathering Place. You’re waiting, aching, expecting. Your heart races inside your tight chest, which is being squashed by a wild terror. It’s one o’clock, an eleven-year-old kid shouldn’t be awake still, this time of night. You keel, hurt, wait. Your guardian, or perhaps the jail-keeper (should we say?), who’s so kind, and fierce, and enchanting, that otherworldly princess who’ll never leave you, is sleeping soundly in the bed next door, thank goodness. And you await, listen, pray.
[Radio] “Ar un ochr, pyrth enfawr o efydd, a ffenestri amryliw uwch eu pennau, a dalwyr ffagl o alwminiwm o’u deutu, sydd yn gwarchod y fynedfa i dwnelau troellog, swyddfeydd modern, a siambrau traddodiadol ac ynddynt waliau wedi’u haddurno â phaneli pinwydd, a lloriau a deilir â mosaigau. Yn y lle hwn, bydd oglau cwyr yn trechu’ch trwyn o’r coridorau caboledig drwy gydol yr amser byddwch yn rhodio’r llwybrau hudol, tra bydd blaenau’ch bysedd yn cyffwrdd â lliain gwlanog, gwyrdd, a lledr rhytgoch ym mhob man.”[Radio] “On one side, enormous gates of bronze, with multi-coloured windows above them, and aluminium torch-holders flanking them, guard the entrance to winding corridors, modern offices, and traditional chambers, their walls adorned with pine panels, and floors tiled with mosaics. In this place, the smell of wax overpowers your nose from the polished corridors all the time you tread the magical pathways, while your finger-tips touch green baize, and rust-red leather, everywhere.”
Bellach, dim ond y tonnau sy’n sisial – ond eto i gyd, dydyn nhw ddim yn dweud dim byd o werth, dim byd penodol, dim byd i dawelu'r meddwl. Tu allan i’r tŷ drafftiog, mae llu o binwydd llwglyd yn tresmasu ar yr olygfa fawreddog i’w weld trwy’r ffenestr ddall, ond dyw’r un ohonyn nhw ddim yn estyn cangen i afael ynot ti, dy ddwyn di ymaith i wledydd rhyfeddol. A thrwy’r amser, mae’r llais ar y radio’n bwrw ymlaen â’i ddisgrifiad –Now, it’s only the waves whispering – but then again, they aren’t saying anything of worth, anything definite, anything to calm your mind. Outside the drafty house, a host of famished pines encroaches on the majestic view to be seen through the blind window, but not one of them extends a branch to grab onto you, to bear you away to strange lands. And all the time, the voice on the radio presses on with its description –
[Radio] “Ac yn y fan hon yr wyf yn byw ers achau, a mawreddog wyf fi, yn enwedig fy nhŵr glas tra gweladwy, sy’n portreadu pen blaen cwch hir, hynny yw, y fath o long a fuasai wedi perthyn i’r hen fôr-ladron o’r Llu Du, sef, y Llychlynwyr. Mae hwn yn pwyntio’n falch trwy amser a gofod tuag at orffennol hynafol y dref. A chyda adenydd y bad hedegog sydd yn ffurfio fy nghorff ar led, byddaf yn eich atgoffa o bterodactyl, ynteu ryw fath o ddraig, marchriffwn, sffincs, neu greadur chwedlonol arall. Ymhellach, rwy’n diogelu gweithgareddau dinesig, darparu safle i ddigwyddiadau diwylliannol, a chynnig adloniannau. Gan amlaf yr atseinia fy mannau mewnol â chanu, o ddarnau aruchel, megis ‘Corws Cyfriniol’ gan Mamrick, i roc gothig heb ei ail, fel ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’ gan Necro Stellar.”[Radio] “And in this place I have lived for ages, and I am majestic, especially my highly visible blue tower, which portrays the prow of a long-boat, that is, the kind of ship which would have belonged to the old pirates of the Black Horde, namely, the Norsemen. This points proudly through time and space towards the town’s ancient past. And with the wings of the flying boat, which forms my body, spread out, I will remind you of a pterodactyl, or some kind of dragon, hippogriff, sphinx, or other legendary creature. Further, I safeguard civic activities, provide a location for cultural events, and offer entertainments. Most often my internal spaces resound with singing, from sublime pieces, such as ‘Mystic Chorus’ by Mamrick, to incomparable gothic rock, like ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’ by Necro Stellar.”
Ti dan bwysau enfawr, yn fferllyd. Mae dy gyhyrau’n galw mas, ond elli di ddim ateb dy gorff dy hunan. Mae’r straen bron yn ormod i ti. Mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai gronynnau tywod sy ‘di dianc o’r traeth yn ymosod ar dy lygaid di. Llefain – ti’n dymuno ‘neud hyn, ond ti’n pallu; so ti eisiau, ond ti’n credu ‘nei di. A’r llais yn dal i siarad –You’re under enormous pressure, numb. Your muscles are calling out, but you can’t answer your own body. The strain’s almost too much for you. You feel like sand-grains that’ve escaped from the beach are assaulting your eyes. Cry – you want to do it, but you can’t; you don’t want to, but you think you will. And the voice is still speaking –
[Radio] “Megis drych a ddelir i fyny i adlewyrchu’r dref ei hun, rwy’n cymysgu’n anymwthiol nodweddion traddodiadol â rhai modern, ac mae fy nhŵr urddasol yn darparu tirnod amlwg sydd hefyd yn cyhoeddi’r amser i bedwar cwr y dref o’r awrleisiau a osodir ar bob un o’i bedwar wyneb. Oddi ar waliau’r tu mewn, mae wynepryd llym ond teg y môr-leidr Stefan, y Jarl Aber-Dyggðar, yn rhythu i lawr arnoch o ddelw’n fwy o lawer na’r gwreiddiol, gan roi sêl bendith Nordig ar y llawer iawn o achlysuron arbennig fydd yn digwydd yn ddi-baid o dan ei lygaid caregog gwydrog – fy llygaid caregog – llygaid byw tref Aberdydd.”[Radio] “Like a mirror which is held up to reflect the town itself, I unobtrusively mix traditional characteristics with modern ones, and my stately tower provides an obvious landmark which also proclaims the time to the four corners of the town from the time-pieces which are set into each one of its four faces. From the interior walls, the stern but fair visage of the pirate Stefan, the Earl Aber-Dyggðar, stares down on you from the much larger than life-sized image, bestowing a Nordic seal of blessing on the very many special occasions which happen ceaselessly under his wandering glassy eyes – my rocky eyes – the living eyes of the town of Aberdydd.”
Ble ma’ e? Unwaith ‘to? A pam mor hwyr? Ydy e’n smyglo cyffuriau, colbio cryts, llowcio sbeis fel dy Dad? Nage fod di’n hidio’r un daten amdano fe, ti’n gobeithio byddai’n marw, ond gwell fyddai gwneud yr holl chwarae gwirion gwrthun a darfod. Fe fydd yn codi pwys arnat ti bob tro – y gweddïau wylofus, y curo bron ingol, yr atgno ffug, siantio’r penydiau wedi’u hysbrydoli gan dafodau’r aflan wrth siglo ymlaen ac yn ôl, a gweddill y perfformiad nosol tu hwnt i eiriau. Be’ sy’n corddi’n fwy – dy du mewn neu dy feddwl di? – wrth i ti boeni am be’ ‘naiff dy chwaer pan fydd Wncwl yn cyrraedd adre’. Mae’r niwl barus yr ochr arall i’r gwydr yn trio dewino dy lygaid coslyd di, heb ofal yn y byd, wrth i’r tonnau eiddil yn taflu eu hunain i’w marwolaeth yn llesg yn erbyn y traeth, sy’n ffroeni fel ‘sai fe ddim yn malio’r un tywodyn ynddyn nhw.Where is he? Again? And why so late? Is he smuggling drugs, coshing kids, quaffing spice like your Dad? Not that you give a hoot about him, you wish he’d die, but it would be better if the whole nasty horse-play was over and done with. It makes you sick every time – the tearful prayers, the agonized breast-beating, the fake remorse, the chanting of the penances inspired by the tongues of the unclean whilst rocking back and forth, and the rest of the unspeakable nightly performance. What’s churning more – your insides or your mind? – as you worry about what your sister’ll do when Uncle gets home. The greedy fog the other side of the glass is trying to beguile your itchy eyes, without a care in the world, whilst feeble waves fling themselves to their death, languidly, on the beach, which sniffs as if it didn’t care a sand-grain about them.
[Radio] “Ac yn fy nghanol, fy nghalon, yn ddwfn tu mewn i’m strwythur cadarn, rwy’n celu perl eithriadol o deg, sef y murluniau enfawr a chrëwyd yn wreiddiol ar gyfer Freddie Procter, y Barwn 1af Tesbyro, fydd, ryfedd dweud, yn tywynnu ac allyrru sawr osôn pan y'u goleuir â golau uwch-fioled. Bydd y lliwiau chwyrlïol, llesmeiriol yn denu’ch meddyliau’n hudol i’r golygfeydd dieithr o’r Nw Yrth, gan greu, drwy ddeheurwydd yr arlunydd, nas dywedir, fyd mewnol o ddelweddau mor hardd, a realaidd, a syfrdanol, o fewn fy myd wedi’i adeiladu o friciau a morter, o garreg, a gwydr, a dur, sydd yn bodoli yn ei dro, ym myd allanol tref Aberdydd.”[Radio] “And at my centre, in my heart, deep within my robust structure, I hide an exceptionally fair pearl, namely the enormous murals created originally for Freddie Procter, the 1st Baron Tesbyro, which, strange to say, glow and give off the smell of ozone when they are illuminated with ultra-violet light. The hypnotic, squirling colours magically attract your thoughts to the alien scenes from the Nw Yrth, creating, through the indescribable dexterity of the artist, an internal world of images so beautiful, and realistic, and stunning, within my world built of bricks and mortar, of stone, and glass, and steel, which exists in its turn, in the outer world of the town of Aberdydd.”
Ti ar bigau drain, ac mae diffyg synau ystyrlon heblaw am y rhai’n llifo o’r radio’n gwneud llanast o’th ddychymyg. Ti’n clustfeinio i ganfod y symud lleia’ lawr staer. Dro ar ôl tro, pigo dy ddychymyg mae rhyw bennill twp sy’n dwyn i gof linell glo’r ffilm arswyd o’r enw ‘Alien’ a ryddhawyd flwyddyn ar ôl dy eni, ac mae’n ddigon i godi gwallt dy ben, wrth hala ysgryd trwot ti:You’re on tenterhooks, and the lack of meaningful sounds apart from the ones flowing from the radio is playing havoc with your imagination. You’re straining your ears to discern the least motion downstairs. Time after time, some stupid verse that recalls the tag-line from the horror-film called ‘Alien’ which was released the year after you were born, stings your imagination, and it’s enough to make your hair stand on end, while sending a shiver through you:

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 11 image 2

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 11 image 3
Ac wedyn – O, ‘neno’r Hen Dduwiau Rhyfedd – dyma ddechrau’r peth fydd yn mynd i dynnu dy berfedd di. Dyna’r palfalu truenus wedi’i gelu mor wael, am allweddi a chlo, wrth iddo yntau’i hunan sefyll, neu simsanu, ar ben y drws fyddai castell brenhinol mewn stori hud a lledrith yn falch ohono – dyna ryw ddyn o’i go’ – wedi’i ddrysu gan ddiod gref, a gofid, a sêl grefyddol, a llid. Ac mae’r Wncwl ffiaidd yn ei abid aflan yn rhoncian i lan y staer a’i wynt yn ei ddwrn, gan regi’n annealladwy mewn iaith nas clywyd ar y Ddaear hyd yn hyn. Mae’n chwysu’n stêcs, a rhochian fel mochyn piwis, gordew, a’i wyneb mor goch â hydrant tân ar fin ffrwydro.And then – O, in the names of the Old Strange Gods – there’s the start of the thing that’s going to tear your guts out. There’s the pitiful fumbling concealed so badly, for keys and lock, while he himself stands, or totters, in the doorway that a royal castle in a fairy-tale would be proud of – there’s the man off his head – bewildered by liquor, and worry, and religious zeal, and fury. And the abominable Uncle in his filthy habit is lurching up the stairs, out of puff, swearing incomprehensibly in a language not heard in the Earth up to now. He’s sweating buckets, and grunting like an obese, puce pig, his face as red as a fire-hydrant about to explode.
Dyna ôl-fflach. Ro’t ti ofn ofnadw’ pan ‘nest ti ymlusgo lawr staer yn chwech oed, un tro pan o’t ti yn y tŷ ar dy ben dy hunan (mwy neu lai) tua un ar ddeg o’r gloch, gyda’r rhieni bant a’r chwaer yn cysgu fel twrch, i edrych ar y greadures ddychrynllyd – y ‘sénomorff’ o’r ffilm – ar y teledu.Then a flash-back. You were terribly frightened when you slunk downstairs at age six, one time when you were home alone (more or less) about 11pm, with the ‘rents out and your sis sleeping like a log, to look at the terrifying creature – the ‘xenomorph’ from the film – on the telly.
Ac yn ôl yn y presennol, ym meddwl ofnus y bachgen mae mwmial yr Offeiriad Coch hwn yn swnio’n debyg i ryw weddi i Nuthkí, yr Hen Feistres Golledig sy’n rhoi bywyd dim ond i dwyn tranc yn ei sgil, ac mae e’n ymuno â’r seiniau diystyr, gan symud yn rhythmig ar drothwy’r stafell i greu hud o anadl ddrewllyd y mynach sy’n gwthio ei breichiau tuag ato fe, a’i fysedd tenau’n grafangau barus, gwaedlyd, A dyma’r bachgen yn dal i gofio –And back in the present, in the boy’s terrified mind, the muttering of this Red Priest sounds similar to some prayer to Nuthkí, the Old Lost Mistress who gives life only to bring destruction in her wake, and he joins in with the meaningless sounds, moving rhythmically on the threshold of the room to create magic from the stinking breath of the monk who’s pushing his arms towards him, with his spindly fingers like bloody, rapacious claws. And the boy’s still remembering –
Roedd yn fraw cyfoglyd i ti weld y gwaed, a’r perfeddion, a’r anghenfil didostur, a’r tywyllwch, y gwyll ofnadw’, a’r android milain heb ben – a’r marw, y marw i gyd – oddi ar ôl i’r hen gadair esmwyth, dreuliedig ond mor gyfforddus a chysurol yng nghornel bella’r lolfa —It was a sickening horror for you to see the blood, and the guts, and the merciless beast, and the darkness, the awful darkness, and the vicious headless android – and the dying, all the dying – from behind the comfy-chair, worn but so comfortable and reassuring in the farthest corner of the lounge –
A dyna sbringiau’r gwely lluddedig yn ‘stafell y dywysoges yn dechrau ymateb – ond ddim morwyn lân ‘mo hi bellach – y gysgadures yn y fagddu, y llechwraig yn y cysgodion, sy’n dod ati ei hun – ac felly nawr fe fydd yn chwarae’r diawl! A dyna Nuthkí ar ddihun. Ac wrth iddi lamu o’i siambr sorri at ben y staer ar ffurf panther angheuol, llyfn, cul, dyna fyrstio rhyw bibell waed yn ddwfn yn ymennydd y dyn anfad dan bwysau’i gasineb a’i wanc. A dyna fe’n sefyll yn stond am yr eiliad leia’, fel ‘sai’n dweud y fendith wrth ei braidd ddiwerth, cyn moelyd i waelod y staer, ddibyn-dobyn, cyn farwed â’r hoelen yn y ddihareb. A’r pryd ‘ny gaeth dau beth eu pennau: o ran Jelena, y byddai raid iddi hi adael cyn gynted ag y byddai’n bosib, ac o ran Daud, na ddeuai ddim yn Dad i blentyn byth erioed.And then the springs of the weary bed in the princess’s room begin to respond – but she’s no holy maiden any more – it’s the sleeper in outer darkness, the lurker in the shadows, who’s coming to – and so now there’ll be hell to pay! And then Nuthkí herself is awake. And as she springs from her boudoir at the top of the stairs in the form of a thin, sleek, deadly panther, some blood-vessel deep in the wicked man’s brain bursts under the pressure of his hatred and his greed. And he stands stock-still for an absolute instant, as if he was giving the blessing to his worthless flock, before toppling to the bottom of the stairs, head-over-heels, as dead as the nail in the proverb. And just then two things were decided: for Jelena, that she would have to leave as soon as possible, and for Daud, that he would never, ever, be Dad to a child.
Mae un o’r ddau’n gywir yn ei rhagolygon hi, tra bydd y llall yn cael mai anghywir yw e. Y tu hwnt i’r llenni mae’r Hen Filwr a’r Dewin Ieuengaf yn tynnu llinynnau i ‘neud gwyrthiau, ac achosi rhyfeddodau. A rhwng y ddau ohonyn nhw (heb anghofio am y Foneddiges), maen nhw’n deall eu crefft i'r dim. Mae’r ddau ddyn yn credu’u bod yn gweithio yn erbyn ei gilydd (yr hen ymryson teuluol), ond, i’r gwrthwyneb, bydd y naill yn helpu’r llall. Serch hynny, o achos y castiau hudol oll, fe fydd baban yn cael ei greu (yn y ffordd arferol, ch’mod!), yn cynnwys yr holl elfennau priodol, sef corff a chysgod, enw, personoliaeth, a grym bywiol. Popeth, welwch chi, byddwch chi angen i lunio enaid effeithiol. Beth fydd y Dewin yn ei eisiau gyda baban, wel, dyw e ddim yn ddweud. Ond mae’r Hen Filwr yn breuddwydio fel a ganlyn.One of the two is correct in her forecast, whilst the other will find that he is incorrect. Behind the scenes, the Old Soldier and the Youngest Magus are pulling strings to do miracles, and cause wonders. And between the two of them (not forgetting about the Lady), they know all the tricks in the book. The two men think they’re working against each other (the old family rivalry), but, to the contrary, the one is helping the other. Despite that, because of all the magical tricks, a baby shall be created (in the usual way, you know!), containing all the appropriate elements, namely body and shadow, name, personality, and life-force. Everything, you see, you need to fashion an effective spirit. What the Magician wants with a baby, well, he’s not saying. But the Old Soldier dreams as follows.
Dyma’r un nerthol, sy wedi bodoli’n dragwyddol, a oedd cyn i bopeth ddod i fodolaeth, ac a ddaw yn ôl yn fyw i deyrnasu dros y Ddau Fyd am byth. Trwy gyfrwng hud cymhleth dros ben, fydd yn ei ddihysbyddu hyd angau, mae’r Hen Filwr yn bwriadu’i ddifeddiannu a chipio’i bŵer. Ac felly mai arglwydd pellafoedd y gwagle y tu hwnt i amser fydd yr Hen Filwr yn y pen draw, ar ffurf unben tadol. Wel, dyna’r amcan, ta beth, ond fydd e’n llwyddo? Fe fydd hynny yn dibynnu ar ffactorau o bob math, yn cynnwys sawl bod dynol. Ac fe wyddoch chi sut maen nhw, oni ‘newch?This is the powerful one, who has existed eternally, who was before everything came into existence, and who shall come back to life to reign over the Two Worlds forever. By means of exceptionally complex magic, which will drain him almost to death, the Old Soldier intends to dispossess him and seize his power. And this the Old Soldier shall be the lord of the extremities of the void beyond time in the end, in the form of a benevolent despot. Well, that’s the intention, anyway, but will he succeed? That will depend on all kinds of factors, including several human beings. And you know what they’re like, don’t you?

Pennod Un ar Bymtheg: Cysgu (Lleisiau 12) / Sleeping (Voices 12)

Mewn gwledydd poeth, darpara cysgodion gysgodfeydd pwysig rhag yr haul, a grea fywyd, ond a’i difa hefyd. Yn yr Hen Aifft, er enghraifft, ystyriwyd y cysgod dynol pygddu yn rhan anhepgor y bersonoliaeth, a allai symud, serch hynny, yn annibynnol ar y corff er mwyn diogelu ei berchen. Gweddïai’r boblogaeth gyfan y goroesent ar ôl tranc eu ffurf gorfforol, yn yr Isfyd oedd yn llawn cysgodion, lle yr âi’r Haul pan fyddai’n marw ar derfyn pob dydd. Oblegid y goel hon, yr oedd cryn ymdrech dros barhau’n fyw ar ôl marwolaeth, o ran y cyfoethogion o leiaf. Golygai’r darpariaethau priodol baratoi corff y person a oedd wedi marw yn ôl cyfarwyddiadau cymhleth, yn ogystal â chodi bedd arbennig a gyflanwyd yn dda â meddiannau. Byddai’r bedd yn llawn o amwledau nerthol a thestunau’n cynnwys trysorfa o wybodaeth grefyddol a hudol fel y byddai’r lle’n gyforiog o hud a swynion. Yr oedd y rhain i fod i alluogi’r ymadawedig i oroesi a ffynnu yn y byd a ddaw o leiaf cystal ag y gwnaethai o’r blaen, os nad lawer gwell. Yr oedd y fath feddau’n ‘peiriannau aileni,’ hynny yw, mynedfeydd i’r Byd Nesaf, ar y trothwy tywyll rhwng byw a marw. Wrth gwrs, fe fyddai angen ar y rhai a adawyd yn ôl ddarparu cyflenwad cyson o fwyd i’r ymadawedig, a llefaru’i enw hefyd, i faentumio’i fodolaeth barhaol.

In hot climates, shadows provide important shelter from the sun, which creates life, but destroys it also. In Ancient Egypt, for example, the pitch-black human shadow was considered to be an inseparable part of the personality, which, despite that, could more independently of the body in order to safeguard its owner. The entire population prayed that they would survive after the demise of their physical form, in the Otherworld which was full of shadows, where the Sun would go when he died at the end of every day. Due to this belief, there was considerable effort to continue to live after death, on the part of the wealthy at least. The appropriate provisions involved preparing the body of the person wo had died according to complex instructions, in addition to building a special grave well-supplied with possessions. The grave would be full of powerful amulets and texts containing a treasure-house of religious and magical knowledge so that the place would be teeming with magic and enchantments. These were supposed to empower the departed to survive and flourish in the world to come at least as well as he had done before, if not much better. Such tombs were ‘resurrection machines,’ that is, entrances to the Next World, on the threshold between living and dying. Of course, it would be necessary for those left behind to provide a constant supply of food for the departed, and pronounce his name also, in order to maintain his continuing existence.

[Tŷ Aileni] “Myfi yw'r Bedd, y Deml, y Sigwrat, y Pyramid, a Thŷ Aileni, a adwaenir hefyd fel Brihadishvara, Caana, Meta Romuli, Nohoch Mul, a Punden Berundak. Cysgod a lecha y tu mewn i’m strwythur – a chysgodion a fwriaf y tu allan – yr wyf fel deial haul a fesura rythm cyson yr hollfyd. Oblegid mai tŷ’r Haul ydwyf hefyd. Cynhwysa’r siambrau hyn fy ewyllys a’m neges at yr oesoedd annirnadwy nad ydynt wedi cyrraedd eto. Yn y lle hwn fe glywch fy ngwir lais yn canu cân ynghylch cyfnod cyn cof a oedd eisoes wedi dirwyn i ben amser anfesuradwy yn ôl. Gwrandewch ar fy ngeiriau, bob un ohonoch a chanddynt glustiau i wrando, ac ymennydd i ddeall. Rhowch sylw i’r holl bethau hyn yn ofalus, gan na wedda i’r doethion droi rhag hyfforddiant yn ofer, rhag gwybodaeth a gasglwyd bob yn ychydig, ac a gynigir mor hael, fel y gallant ymgyfoethogi. Gwrandewch arnaf, daliwch sylw, a dysgwch, wrth imi ddechrau datgan geiriau Swyn Aileni a yrr drystau trwy’r Ddau Fyd – khepereni kheperen kheperet…”[House of Rebirth] “I am the Tomb, the Temple, the Ziggurat, the Pyramid, and the House of Rebirth, which is known also as Brihadishvara, Caana, Meta Romuli, Nohoch Mul, a Punden Berundak. Shadow lurks inside my structure – and shadows I cast outside – I am like a sun-dial which measures the universe’s constant rhythm. For I am the Sun also. These chambers comprise my will and my message to the inconceivable ages which have not yet arrived. In this place you shall hear my true voice singing a song about an immemorial period that had already come to an end an immeasurable time ago. Listen to my words, every one of you who has ears to hear, and a mind to understand. Pay careful heed to all these things, for it is not fitting for the wise to turn from instruction in vain, from knowledge which has been collected little by little, and which is offered so generously so that they can enrich themselves. Listen to me, pay attention, and learn, whilst I begin to declare the words of the Charm of Rebirth which sends rumbles through the Two Worlds -- khepereni kheperen kheperet…”
[Yr Ananedig] “Mewn cawl trwchus a thryloyw rwy’n nofio, yn y lle hwn llawn dymuniad mud, neu falle mod i’n hwylio ar wyneb rhyw fôr anhysbys, sy’n gyforiog o ddymuniadau heb eu cyflawni hyd yn hyn. Ydw i’n farw neu heb fy ngeni eto? Fel y morfil lleia' yn y byd, rwy’n ymhyfrydu yn teimlo’r dŵr o’m cwmpas, wrth i fi ganu, chep-er – chep-er – chep-er. Wel o leia’ rwy’n credu mod i’n grillian, neu ‘neud sŵn o ryw fath, heb eiriau nac alaw, wrth lafurio i gyfleu cymaint o bethau anghyson ac annisgrifiadwy, i ddweud chwedlau am fywydau di-rif nad yw neb wedi’u byw eto. A hanesion llawn arswyd a dagrau, nwydau a gofidiau, awyddau, pleserau, a phoenau ydyn nhw i gyd. Cyfuniad o elfennau anhygoel o rymus a esgorodd arna i, cymysgedd yn cynnwys gwaed a mêl, halen a lledrith a chwys a phridd. Deffrodd rhyw lanw mewnol luosogi fy nghelloedd, gan gynnau ffiws goch, gignoeth fy mywyd ar yr un pryd.”[The Unborn] “In a thick, translucent soup I swim, in this place full of silent desire, or perhaps I’m sailing on the surface of some unknown sea, overflowing with desires unfulfilled up to now. Am I dead or as yet unborn? Like the tiniest whale in the world, I delight in feeling the water around me, whilst I sing, chep-er – chep-er -- chep-er. Well at least I think I’m chirping, or making sound of some kind, without words or tune, whilst labouring to convey so many things, inconsistent and indescribable, to tell tales about numberless lives which no-one has yet lived. And these are all stories full of terror and tears, passions and fears, desires, and pleasures, and pains. An incredibly potent combination of elements brought me forth, a mixture containing blood and honey, salt and magic and sweat and earth. Some internal tide awoke the proliferation of my cells, igniting the raw, red fuse of my life at the same time.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Yn y dechreuad, fe freuddwydia’r cawl cychwynnol sydd yn gyflawn ynddo’i hun, ac ymhlith y dyfroedd yr ymgoda meddyliau a grea eu hunain. Ond tra bo’r meddyliau hyn yn rymus, serch hynny y maent yn fud hefyd. Gwrandewch, am mai dyma fi’n dywed wrthych sut y daeth y cyfanfyd oll i fod.”[House of Rebirth] “In the beginning, the primordial broth, which is complete in itself, dreams, and amidst the waters there arise thoughts which create themselves. But whilst these thoughts are powerful, despite that they are mute also. Listen, for here am I telling you how the whole universe came to be.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Drwy’r amser yn y tywyllwch ‘ma mae ‘nghorff i’n troi a throsi, tyfu ac ymestyn, plygu a thrawsffurfio, am fy mod i’n gaeth i ddeddfau biogenetig, yn yr un modd â phob creadur arall wedi’i ‘neud o gig a gwaed, asgwrn a chroen. Felly mae fy siâp corfforol yn ymateb i alwad meysydd grym a graddiannau cemegol am hyn o dro, gan newid ei ffurf o hyd ac o hyd. Ac wrth i fi ddatblygu, rwy’n bysgodyn i ddechrau, wedyn salamander, ar ôl hynny crwban, wedi’i ddilyn gan giw, cyn dod yn fochyn, ac yn nesa’n llo, sy’n troi’n gwningen, ac yn olaf rwy’n grwt. Ac o sylweddoli hyn, fe fyddwn i ddod i feddu ar yr hud mwya’ nerthol, ‘swn i ond yn gallu cofio, neu ddyfeisio, y geiriau priodol i fynegi’r trawsffurfiad yn fanwl gywir, i’w gychwyn, i’w reoli, i’w atal, i’w lywio ar hyd llwybrau newydd. Ond cyn gynted ag rwy’n meddwl y fath bethau, dyma fi’n newid fy meddwl yn syth, achos dw i ddim yn sicr bod hyn oll yn wir, yn y fan hon lle mae cysyniadau’n toddi ac ail-ffurfio’n hudol bob amser. A dyma fi’n dechrau colli synnwyr realiti, gan ofyn fel mae pobl wedi ‘neud cyn amled o’r blaen: beth, yn enwedig, yw gwirionedd? A dyna pam, mewn eiliadau o ofn llwyr wrth i fi hongian yma’n noeth, mor lawn disgwyliad nes i fi deimlo fel ‘swn i ar fin ffrwydro, rwy’n sgrechian, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, ac mae fel ‘sai fy ymwybod newydd ei rwygo’n hollol annisgwyl o wagle difeddwl. Ond nage fi sy wedi dewis derbyn y baich hwn, yr haint farwol wedi’i throsglwyddo o’r rhieni i’r plentyn. Ac er hynny, fi sy wedi’i dynghedu i fyw, ac i farw o’r diwedd, ar derfyn bywyd cythryblus.”[The Unborn] “All the time in this darkness my body tosses and turns, grows and extends, bends and transforms, as I am enslaved by biogenetic laws, in the same way as every other creature made of flesh and blood, bone and skin. So my physical shape responds to the call of force-fields and chemical gradients for the time being, changing its form incessantly. And as I develop, I’m a fish to start with, then a salamander, after that a tortoise, followed by a chick, before becoming a pig, and next a calf, which turns into a rabbit, and last I am a child. And realising this, I would come to possess the most powerful magic, if I could only remember, or invent, the appropriate words to express the metamorphosis absolutely correctly, to start it, to control it, to halt it, to steer it along new paths. But as soon as I think such things, I change my mind straight away, because I’m not sure that all this is true, in this place where concepts are melting and re-forming magically all the time. And I start to lose a sense of reality, asking myself like people have done so often before: what, exactly, is truth? And that’s why, in moments of complete terror as I hang here naked, so full of expectations I feel like I’m about to explode, I scream, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, and it’s as if my consciousness has just been torn totally unexpectedly from an unthinking void. But it’s not me who’s chosen to accept this burden, the deadly infection transmitted from the parents to the child. And despite that, it’s me who’s been fated to live, and to die at last, at the end of a turbulent life.”
[Tŷ Aileni] "Yn gyntaf oll, hollta dychmygion gwreiddiol yr ymennydd anhrefnus yn olau a thywyll, egni a sylwedd, enaid a chorff, ystyriaeth a gweithred, symud a gorffwys, ac â’r rhain yn eu blaenau i hofran dros wyneb y môr mawr, llwyd o bosibiliadau di-ben-draw. Yn awr, fel neidr swrth yn torheulo ar dywod poeth yr anialwch wrth arogleuo’r awyr yn astud, synhwyra’r meddyliau symudiad yr ehangder aruthrol o dŵr, gan ddechrau llunio o’r elfennau cyntefig galon, a cheg, dannedd, a thafod, i ynganu’r geiriau creadigol a fydd yn cyflawni’r weithred fawr, sef datgelu gogoniant y greadigaeth.”[House of Rebirth] "First of all, the disordered mind’s original thoughts split into light and darkness, energy and substance, spirit and body, consideration and action, movement and repose; and these go forward to hover over the face of the great, grey sea of endless possibilities. Now, like a lethargic snake basking on the desert’s hot sand while intently sniffing the air, the thoughts sense the movement of the vast expanse of water, beginning to fashion from the primordial elements a heart and a mouth, teeth, and a tongue, to pronounce the creative words which shall complete the great task, namely revealing the glory of the creation.”
[Yr Ananedig] “O Fam, fy Mam, sgwrsiwch â fi: dyma fi’n aros, ar binnau bach, a gwrando. Gadewch i ni gerdded gyda’n gilydd dan yr awyr nos, ar lan y môr meddylgar sy’n ffynhonnell i gymaint, fi sy’n deithiwr yn eich croth, a chi sy’n rhodio llwybrau cymhleth bywyd, wrth i’ch traed noeth suddo i’r tywod oer, hynafol. Diogelwch fi, Fam, chi sy ‘di dewis, a fi sy heb ddewis o gwbl, wrth i ni grwydro dan belydrau’r lleuad sy’n wraig i natur, ac felly morwyn fagu i bawb, ac a fydd yn goleuo’r holl fyd yn ei hamser ei hun. Mae’r triliynau o ronynnau tywod yn croniclo oferedd yr oesoedd, wrth i’r dŵr corddol ein hatgoffa o ble rydym ni wedi dod, ac i ble y byddwn ni’n dychwelyd. Mae’r tonnau’n tyner sisial wrth fy nghelloedd llawn hylif helïaidd, wrth i’r haemoglobin yn fy nghelloedd gwaed, sydd â haearn yn ei galon, ruthro drwy fy ngwythiennau, chep – er – chep – er – chep – er. A dyma fi’n dyhefod wrth geisio canu mewn cytgord ag aflonyddiadau bychain ar y maes magnetig sy’n amgylchu’r blaned, ond o achos y cyfyngiadau ar fy nghorff pitw, dw i’n cael fy nghondemnio i fethu.”[The Unborn] “O Mother, my Mother, talk to me; here I am, waiting, on tenterhooks, and listening. Let us walk together under the night sky, along the shore of the thoughtful sea which is the source of so much, I who am a traveller in your womb, and you who stroll life’s complex paths, whilst your bare feet sink into the ancient, cold sand. Protect me, Mother, you who have chosen, and I who lack any choice at all, while we wander under the beams of the moon who is wife to nature, and therefore nursemaid to all, and who will light up the whole world in her own time. The trillions of sand-grains chronicle the futility of the ages, whilst the churning water reminds us of whence we have come, and whither we shall return. The tender waves whisper to my cells full of saline fluid, whilst the haemoglobin in my blood-cells, which has iron in its heart, rushes through my veins, chep – er – chep – er – chep – er. And I pant while trying to sing in harmony with the tiny perturbations in the magnetic field that enswathes the planet, but due to the restrictions on my feeble body, I am condemned to fail.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Ac yn sydyn dyna ymddiddan y meddyliau creadigol wrth ei gilydd gan ddefnyddio geiriau nas clywyd erioed o’r blaen. Gwaedda’r dyfroedd byrlymus mewn loes oblegid y wasgfa esgor, wrth i felt fflachio o boptu, gan roi genedigaeth i wagle di-drefn y gofod. Wedyn, trefnir y gwagle yn unol â chynddelw’r cosmos, ar sail y meddyliau a ddatgenir ar ffurf geiriau, gan y geg, y tafod, y dannedd, a’r gwefusau. Ac felly dyma ddod yr Haul, a’r planedau i gyd, i fod.”[House of Rebirth] “And suddenly the creative thoughts converse with each other using words that have never been heard before. The bubbling waters cry out in pain due to the birthing pangs, whilst lightning flashes all around, giving birth to the disordered void of space. Then, the void is ordered in accordance with the blueprint of the cosmos, on the basis of the thoughts which are declared in the form of words, by the mouth, the tongue, the teeth, and the lips. And so the Sun, and all the planets, come to be.”
[Yr Ananedig] “A fi, sydd â llygaid ond nad yw’n gallu gweld o hyd, fi sy’n nofio yn y môr mewnol – fi ydy sy’n cael ei amddiffyn gan hylif y groth, rhag grym atyniad enfawr ein tad y ddaear, a phwysedd aruthrol cwrlid yr awyr atmosfferig. Yn fy esgyrn galcheiddiwyd, trwy fy systëin sylffyraidd, ac yn fy ffosffadau ffyrnig, rwy’n teimlo’n bod ni i gyd yn blant i rymoedd yr hollfyd. Mae’u hegnïon cymhleth a manwl gyweiriedig yn rhyngweithio gyda’i gilydd i’n bywiogi ni. Rydym ni’n rhannu’u hymdrechion dros esblygiad a newid o achos y pâr o rubanau cemegol wedi’u plethu yng nghalon pob cell. Fel aelodau’r hil ddynol rydym ni oll yn cael ein huno gan y peiriant molecylaidd hwn sy’n diffinio’n rhywogaeth. Mae’r templed ‘ma’n gyrru’n chwantau, a thanio’n hofnau, wrth reoli’n breuddwydion hefyd. Ac felly, y wybodaeth hon wedi’i chodio yng nghraidd ein bodolaeth, fydd yn gweithio i lunio’r dyfodol, gan fwyngloddio haen o bosibiliadau dychmygol heb ffin na therfyn.”[The Unborn] “And I, who have eyes but cannot see still, I who am swimming in the internal sea – it is I who am being protected by the womb’s fluid from the enormous attractive power of our father the earth, and the immense pressure of the quilt of atmospheric air. In my calcified bones, through my sulfurous cysteine, and in my ferocious phosphates, I feel that we are all children to the forces of the universe. Their complex and finely-tuned energies interact with each other to enliven us. We share their efforts towards evolution and change because of the pair of chemical ribbons pleated in the heart of every cell. As members of the human race we all united by this molecular machine which defines our species. This template drives our desires, and ignites our fears, while also governing our dreams. And so, it is this information encoded in the essence of our existence, which will work to fashion the future, mining a seam of imaginary possibilities without boundary or end.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Gweithia’r Haul, hanfod haelioni, drwy gyfrwng y meddwl, yr enaid, a’r llais i greu bywyd trwy ddatgan y geiriau hudol. Dyma sut mae elfennau sylfaenol y drefn gosmig yn cysylltu â’i gilydd. Newid yw craidd amser, a gwelir newid trwy gyfrwng symudiad gwrthrychau a datblygiad prosesau; a thrwy briodweddau meintiol a duedda i gynyddu a lleihau, a rhai ansoddol a duedda i gryfhau a gwanhau. Ac ymddengys fel petasai amser a achosa newid yn ei dro, er mai dim ond arwydd yr ail yw’r cyntaf. Ac o ran yr hollfyd, bywyd yw prif arwydd newid. Ac felly yng nghyflawnder amser, fel y medd dyn, ar yr amser penodedig y cwyd bywyd, a dilyn ei gwrs digynnig, gan lanw a threio, cynyddu a chilio, ar hap a damwain i bob golwg, wrth esblygu yn y modd mwyaf cymhleth a rhyfeddol.”[House of Rebirth] “The Sun, the essence of generosity, works by means of the mind, the spirit, and the voice, to create life by declaring the magic words. This is how the fundamental elements of the cosmic order are connected with each other. Change is the crux of time, and change is seen by means of the movement of objects and the development of processes; and through quantitative properties which tend to increase and decrease, and qualitative ones which tend to intensify and weaken. And it appears as if it is time which causes change in its turn, although the former is but a sign of the latter. And on the part of the universe, life is the main sign of change. And so it is, that in the fullness of time, as one says, at the appointed time, that life arises and follows its exceptional course, ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning, living and dying at random to all appearances, whilst evolving in the most complex and wonderful fashion.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Am fydoedd, am fywydau, mae bodau dynol yn eu creu, gan weu tapestri o ieithoedd a syniadau. Mae symbol yn galw ar symbol, wrth i arwyddion gyplu’n ddiarbed wrth ei gilydd i ‘neud cadwyni o ystyr newydd sbon. A dyna sut mae cymaint o eiriau’n ffrydio allan i’r byd i ddisgrifio cytserau eiriasboeth o wybodaeth, gan gysylltu meddwl â meddwl a thanio injans syfrdanol meddwl a dychymyg. Fe fydd yr holl ddrama hon yn aros amdana i. Mae e eisoes yn barod, y llwybr llydan ‘na fydd yn arwain i dranc. ‘Sdim ond rhaid i’r cymeriadau, a’r lleoedd, y deialog, y naratif, a’r digwyddiadau, yn ogystal â’r manylion fyrdd eraill gael eu datgelu. A fi fydd yr un a gaiff ei orfod i ddarganfod popeth, mewn dyfodol na fydda i’n medru’i reoli. Ac o achos hyn oll dw i’n beichio wylo wrth ddawnsio yma yn fy nghroth saff, wedi’i dal hi ar ddeliriwm tynged anhysbys.”[The Unborn] “What worlds, what lives, human beings create, weaving a tapestry of languages and ideas. Symbol calls to symbol, whilst signs couple together unrelentingly to make chains of brand-new meaning. And that’s how so many worlds flood out into the world to describe white-hot constellations of information, connecting mind with mind and firing stupendous engines of though and imagining. All this drama shall be awaiting me. It is already ready, that wide path that will lead to destruction. There is only need for the characters, and the locations, the dialogue, the narrative, and the events, together with the myriad of other details, to be revealed. And it’s me who’ll be forced to discover everything, in a future I won’t be able to control. And because of all this I sob while dancing here in my safe womb, drunk on the delirium of an unknown destiny.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Oherwydd nerth yr Haul yr ymddengys yr holl elfennau, a’r pwerau oll, a fodola heddiw. O ganlyniad i’w eiriau y dônt i fod. Trwy lefaru y crea ef bob peth sydd. Ac felly y mae: Lushfé, y goelcerth sy wastad yn ysu, a Tefnuth, a’i syrthni yn dofi pob grym; Hebé, y ddrycin, sy’n rhuo ym mhobman, a Nuthkí, yr hanfod sy’n bwydo a lladd; Wezir, y gofod sy’n berwi heb ysbaid, ac Isheth, yr egni sy’n llenwi pob cil; Nebesh, yr afon na ellir ei hatal, a Swtach, yr anial, sy’n celu ei wep. A’r enwau ar y Saith Swynwr yw Lushfé a Tefnuth, Hebé a Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, a Nebesh. Ond am Swtach y gwrthryfelwr ni allaf sôn mwyach, ond i ddweud iddo fynd yn was caeth i’r llall trwy geisio goruchafu arnynt yn anghyfreithlon. Am mai, fel yr ydys wedi ysgrifennu: Trwy ennill y daw colli, a’r sawl a fetha a ennill.”[House of Rebirth] “Due to the might of the Sun, all the elements appear, and all the powers, which exist today. It is as a result of his words that they came to be. It is through speaking that he created every thing that there is. And so there is: Lushfé, the bonfire that’s always consuming, and Tefnuth whose slothfulness tames every power; Hebé, the tempest who bellows all over, and Nuthkí the essence that both feeds and kills; Wezir, the void-space who’s ceaselessly boiling, and Isheth, the energy filling all nooks; Nebesh, the river that cannot be halted, and Swtach the desert, who covers his face. And the names of the Seven Sorcerers are Lushfé and Tefnuth, Hebé and Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, and Nebesh. But about Swtach the rebel, I cannot speak further, only to say that he became bond-sevant to the others by trying to dominate them illegally. For, as it has been written: ‘Trough winning one loses; and he who fails shall win’.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Eto i gyd, ymhlith y dychmygion digyswllt ‘ma, mae pigiadau o anesmwythder yn plagio fy nghorff eiddil, wrth i donnau o bryder olchi drosof fi. Wedi’r cwbl, beth am haint a hagrwch, helbul a helynt? Dw i’m yn gallu anghofio taw’r helics dwbl, troellog ‘na, wedi’i gelu yng nghnewyll bron pob cell, sy’n cynnwys gwybodaeth ynglŷn â therfyn bywyd yn ogystal â’i gychwyn. Y tu mewn i’n sborau ni, mae had ein digalondid, hyd yn oed ein distryw.”[The Unborn] “Then again, amongst these unconnected imaginings, prickles of unease plague my puny body, whilst waves of worry wash over me. After all, what about disease and deformity, trial and tribulation? I cannot forget that that spiral double helix, concealed in the nucleus of almost every cell, contains information about the end of life as well as its beginning. Inside our spores there are the seeds of our desolation, even our destruction.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Ar ben y system sanctaidd y mae’r Haul, felly, yn llythrennol ac yn drosiadol, efe a reola dros holl gyfundrefn natur er y cychwyn cyntaf. Geiriau ei gân hudol a chwareus a dynn fywyd o’r pridd mud, marw, oer. Yr oedd iaith yno pan anwyd y byd; mae’r holl blaned wedi’i dilladu ag ieithoedd, a dawn ymadrodd a addurna’r tir, y môr a’r awyr, gan wneud y byd yn lle eithriadol o gymhleth ar yr un pryd. Ym mhob man, siantia’r sgarabiaid litani gylchol marwolaeth a dadeni oddi mewn i’r tail toreithiog, rhagorol. A dyna fantra a gychwyn ei hun, a gyfeiria at ei hun, a drawsffurfia ei hun, drwy’r amser – khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.”[House of Rebirth] “At the top of the sacred system is the Sun, therefore, literally and metaphorically; he who has been ruling over the whole order of nature since the beginning time. It is the words of his magical and playful song that draw life from the cold, dead, mute soil. There was language there when the world was born; the whole planet is clothed with languages, and the gift of speech adorns the land, the sea, and the sky, making the world an exceptionally complex place at the same time. Everywhere, the scarabs chant a cyclical litany of death and rebirth from within the superb, fertile manure. And that is a mantra which begins itself, which refers to itself, which transforms itself, all the time -- khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.”
[Yr Ananedig] “O, bellach mae arna i angen troi at y rhiant gwryw, yr un absennol, fe sy’n rhedeg bant bob tro, nad yw eisiau arddel fy modolaeth, sy’n dymuno fy ngwrthod i. Dych chi wedi diodde’ cymaint ond dod drwyddi, ac fe fyddwch yn godde’ unwaith yn rhagor cyn cael eich rhyddhau. Ac felly, rwy’n codi fy llais dychmygol, llawn cryndod a dychryn. O Dad, ‘Nhad, arnoch chi rwy’n galw, erfyn, deisyf; chi sy’n diogelu ffon hudol iaith, sy’n rheoli cyfathrebu, er dydych chi ddim yn sylweddoli’r ffaith. Chi fyddai’n gwybod i ble y bydd y symffoni symbolaidd hon yn fy arwain i, ‘sech chi’n cyflawni’r seremoni briodol, er na fyddech chi’n dweud wrtha i hyd yn oed wedyn. Falle yn y dyfodol fe fydda i’n diodde’ o anaffylacsis arteithiol fydd yn atal fy alfeoli anafus rhag agor i anadlu awyr amhûr yr atmosffer. Neu’n hytrach, o bosibl, fe fydda i’n cael fy nifa gan lygredd canseraidd pan fydd y naill gell yn lladd y llall, gan lyncu’r cnodweoedd a’r cwndidau a luniwyd mor gywrain ar ôl fy ymgnawdoli. Ac wedyn fe fyddai’r gad fewnol yn adlewyrchu’r rhyfeloedd allanol, o leia’, lle mae natur, sy ddim yn meithrin rhagor, yn ymladd yn erbyn ei hunan ar ffurf dynolryw farus, hunanol, anystyriol, a rhyfelgar ar yr un llaw, a’r ddaeargryn, y llosgfynydd, y corwynt, a’r tswnami ar y llaw arall, gan wasgaru, yn esgeulus, ddifrod yn ei sgil.”[The Unborn] ‘Oh, now I need to turn to the male parent, the absent one, the one who runs away all the time, who does not want to acknowledge my existence, who wishes to deny me. You have suffered so much but come through it, and you will suffer once again before being released. And so, I raise up my imaginary voice, full of trembling and fear. O Father, my Father, you I invoke, beseech, implore, you who safeguard the magical staff of life, who rule communication, although you do not realise the fact. It is you who would know where this symbolic symphony will lead me, if you were to complete the appropriate ceremony, although you would not tell me even then. Perhaps in the future I’ll suffer from agonizing anaphylaxis which will impede my injured alveoli from opening to inhale the atmosphere’s impure air. Or rather, possibly, I shall be consumed by cancerous corruption, when one cell kills the other, swallowing the tissues and the conduits fashioned so adroitly after my enfleshing. But then the internal war would reflect the external battles, at least, where nature, which no longer nurtures, fights against itself in the form of greedy, selfish, inconsiderate, and warlike humanity, on the one hand, and the earthquake, the volcano, the hurricane, and the tsunami, or the other, scattering, carelessly, destruction in its wake.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Mae fy miliwn o feini wedi malu cenhedloedd wrth gael eu symud. Ac wedyn maent wedi diasbedain gan sain hypnotig yr offeiriaid drwy oesoedd rif y gwlith. Mae yna gyfrinachau, sydd â photensial enfawr i newid y byd, yn llechu y tu mewn i’m dyfnderoedd ceudyllog. Nid oes dim byd mor drwm â gwybodaeth guddiedig yr hud ieithyddol yr wyf yn gafael ynddi mor dynn. Mae wedi bod yn galw’n daer am goffa drwy’r tymhorau, y blynyddoedd, y canrifoedd, a’r milenia; mae’n ymbil am gael ei rhyddhau, er mwyn imi allu cyflawni’r dasg hanfodol o adfywhau’r Dewin, cyn gwthio’i enaid ar hyd y Llwybr Llaethog at dragwyddoldeb yn y nefoedd.”[House of Rebirth] “My million stones have crushed nations whilst being moved. And then they have resounded to the mesmeric sound of the priests through innumerable ages. There are secrets, which have enormous potential to change the world, lurking inside my cavernous depths. There is nothing as weighty as the hidden knowledge of the linguistic magic that I am gripping onto so tightly. It has been calling insistently for remembrance through the seasons, the years, the centuries, and the millennia; it is pleading to be released, so that I can complete the essential task of reviving the Magus, before thrusting his soul along the Milky Way to eternity in the heavens.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Ond alla i roi bai ar rymoedd amhersonol natur, ydy’r agwedd ‘ma’n deg? Mae llawer o bobl yn dweud taw gweithrediadau rhyw Dduwdod neu’i gilydd yw trychinebau, plâu, haint, a newyn. Ond pa fath o Dduwdod call a allai achosi i’r fath bethau ddigwydd? Ac wedyn, ar y llaw arall, ‘sai’r Rhai Nerthol yn hollol loerig, oni fyddai’r Ddau Fyd lai nag mewnffrwydro dan bwysau’r amhosibilrwydd anhraethol, heb os nac oni bai? A chofiwch chi nad fi, yr amnio-forwr yn y bru, gwlyb at y croen, a’i ysgyfaint yn llond o hylif, sy wedi dewis y rhan leia’ o hyn oll. Ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, dyma fi wedi fy allwthio fy hunan i’r gofod mewnol ‘ma, dyma fi’n bwydo, a thyfu ac aeddfedu, gan greu ac ail-greu fy hunan, a dyma fi’n sgrechian yn fud, a syflyd, gan bwtian fy Mam oddi mewn. Ond nage fi sy wedi dewis dim byd o gwbl o’r pethau ‘ma. Na gallwn i wrthod, ‘chwaith, y rhodd hon o fywyd, yr anrheg fwya’ ymhlith yr holl anrhegion. Ac am ei bod wedi’i chyflwyno heb haelder, ac yn brin o serch, dim ond manbeth anfuddiol, llawn ing fydd e yn y diwedd, beth bynnag.”[The Unborn] “But can I blame the impersonal forces of nature, is that attitude fair? Many people say that plagues, pestilence, and famine are acts of some Divinity or other. But what kind of sane Divinity could cause such things to happen? And then, on the other hand, if the Powerful Ones were totally mad, would not the Two Worlds simply implode under the pressure of the incalculable improbability, without a doubt? And remember that it is not I, the amnio-naut in the womb, wet to the skin, and lungs full of fluid, who has chosen the least part of all this. But despite that, here am I having extruded myself into this internal space, here I am, feeding, and growing, and maturing, creating and re-creating myself, and here I am screaming silently, and stirring, nudging my Mother from within. But it is not me who’s chosen anything at all of these things. Nor could I refuse, either, this gift of life, the greatest gift of all. And because it has been presented without generosity, and is lacking in love, only a worthless trifle full of anguish shall it be, in the end, anyway.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Mae fy llygaid hollweledol o lapis-laswli glas yr awyr, a luniwyd gan y pen-seiri meini, yn debyg i eiddo baban heb ei eni. Ac maent wedi gwylio popeth yn drist ar hyd yr oesoedd, wrth warchod hyd yn hyn ddefodau sydd heb eu cyflawni ers cannoedd o ganrifoedd. Am mai myfi fy hun yw’r porth a’r allwedd i’r Byd Nesaf, myfi a ddylai fod yn dŷ olaf i’r Dewin a man cychwyn ei daith ymhlith y sêr ar ben hynny. Ond – gwae fi!– rwy wedi cael fy nhreisio a’m halogi, a bellach gwag yw fy nghroth, ac unig fy lleoedd sanctaidd! Nid oes mwyach gorff wedi’i lapio fel mymi’n gorwedd yn ddiogel y tu mewn i’w gocŵn hudol. Ond mae yna un mewn bodolaeth a ŵyr y swyngyfaredd gywir, sydd yn consurio’r grymoedd cronedig wrth imi gyfathrebu wrthych y materion hyn i gyd. Ac felly rwy’n chwannog ddisgwyl dychwelyd yr Un Detholedig ar farw. Ac wedyn, pan fydd popeth yn barod, efe a ddaw i gael ei ail-eni, ac fe fyddaf fi’n anwesu ei gorff nas llygrir yn fy arch garreg, wrth i’w enw, a phersonoliaeth, a chysgod, ac enaid rodio llwybrau’r Ddau Fyd ar ffurf ysbryd nerthol heb rwystr am byth!”[House of Rebirth] “My all-seeing eyes of sky-blue lapis-lazuli, which were fashioned by the master masons, are similar to those of an unborn babe. And they have watched everything sadly throughout the ages, whilst guarding up to now rites which have not been performed for hundreds of centuries. For I myself am the gate and the key to the Next World, it is I who should be last house for the Magus and starting-point for his journey amongst the stars as well as that. But – Oh, woe! – I have been violated and desecrated, and now my womb is empty, and my sacred spaces lonely! There is no longer a body wrapped as a mummy, lying safe inside its magical cocoon. But there is one in existence who knows the correct enchantment, who is conjuring the pent-up forces whilst I communicate all these matters to you. And so, I eagerly await the return of the Chosen One on the point of death. And then, when everything is ready, he shall come to be reborn, and I shall caress his uncorrupted body in my stone coffin, whilst his name, and personality, and shadow, and spirit, stroll the paths of the Two Worlds in the form of a powerful spirit, without hindrance, for ever!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 13

Pennod Dau ar Bymtheg: Ymdrybaeddu (Lleisiau 13) / Wallowing (Voices 13)

Nid anodd gweld, o ran y rhai sydd yn ymbleseru yn boddio’u llygaid ar nofelau graffig o leiaf, mai profiad hollol newydd yw hwn o’i gymharu â darllen llyfr neu edrych ar baentiad, er enghraifft. Ac fe ddylem nodi’n astud nad y gair ‘darllen’ a ddefnyddiwyd yn y cyd-destun hwn. Felly mae rhaid datblygu dull gwahanol yn ei hanfod o drafod comics, fel mae Julia Round wedi esbonio. Yr uned i’r naratif mewn stribed comic yw’r panel. Mae hwn yn cynrychioli arwydd hybrid newydd sydd yn cyfuno agweddau llenyddol â rhai gweledol. Yn y panel, sydd yn defnyddio estheteg dra arddulliedig, mae gofod yn cynrychioli amser, gan greu o ddim fyd ffantastig wedi’i seilio ar wirionedd ffuglennol lle mae popeth yn y pair bob amser.Bydd y nodweddion hyn i gyd yn cyfrannu at lunio gor-realiaeth lle y bydd traethydd y stori’n gymeriad ynddi. Bydd hefyd yn drysu safbwynt darluniadol gwrthrychol y gwyliwr, a’i synnwyr hunaniaeth ar ben hynny, gan na all wahaniaethu’n ymwybodol rhwng ei sefyllfa yn y byd go iawn yn ystod ei brofiad, a’r hyn sydd yn digwydd yn efelychiad dirwedd a grëir yn y llyfr comics. Bydd yn dod yn awdur cyfrannol a chanddo fewnbwn i’r naratif, ac efe fydd yn llenwi bylchau pwysig, gan ddarparu dehongliadau amgen i’r hanes.

It is not hard to see, on the part of those who delight in feasting their eyes on graphic novels at least, that this is a totally new experience compared with reading a book or looking at a painting, for example. And we should carefully note that it is not the word ‘read’ that has been used in this context. Thus, there is a need to develop a fundamentally different method of discussing comics, as Julia Round has explained. The unit of the narrative in a comic strip is the panel. This represents a new hybrid sign which unites literary aspects with visual ones. In the panel, which uses a highly stylized aesthetic, space represents time, creating out of no-where a fantastic world based in fictional truth where everything is always mutable.All these characteristics contribute to fashioning a hyper-reality where the narrator of the story is a character in it. It also confuses the objective pictorial viewpoint of the viewer, and his sense of identity on top of that, since he cannot differentiate consciously between his situation in the real world during his experience, and what is happening in the simulation of reality which is created in the comic book. He becomes a contributing author who has input into the narrative, and it is he who fills in important gaps, providing alternative interpretations for the story.

Yng nghysur y gwely hedegog (er nad yw’n hedfan ar hyn o bryd), o dan y cwilt ac arno ddelweddau o angenfilod, wrth olau tortsh, bydd ein David bach ni (er fod e’n llanc plorynnog llawn hormonau yn ei arddegau bellach) yn dwlu ar ddarllen ei hoff gomics wedi’u hysbrydoli gan chwedlau hynafol a hynod Urdd y Cyfrinachau. Mamrick (‘Y Cysgod’) o’r Wlad-wen yw’r awdur, ac mae darluniau arswydus o brydferth gan Grossmann (‘Y Ficing’) sy’n hanu o dref Aberdydd dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd. Mae’r Hen Filwr, y dyn doniol ‘na a’i lygaid yn pefrio bob tro, sy fel Wncwl clyfar, cyfeillgar, wedi bod yn dod â nhw ato fe. Mae’r noddedig ifanc wedi bod yn edrych ymlaen at yr ymweliadau mor frwd, achos bod y comics mor wych, ac yn wir mae ‘di bod yn dysgu cymaint am hud gan y cyfarwydd teithiol (dyna’i eiriau ei hunan, cofiwch chi) a’r nofelau graffig (a rhoi iddyn nhw eu henw cywir).In the comfort of the flying bed (although it's not flying at the moment), under the quilt with its monstrous images, by torchlight, our little David (although he’s a spotty teen-ager full of hormones now) just loves reading his favourite comics inspired by the ancient and strange legends of the Guild of Secrets. Mamrick (‘The Shadow’) of the White-land is the author, and there are terrifyingly beautiful illustrations by Grossmann (‘The Viking’) who comes from the idyllic town of Aberdydd across the Great Grey Sea. The Old Soldier, that funny man whose eyes are always sparkling, who’s like a friendly, clever Uncle, has been bringing them to him. The young protégé’s been looking forward to the visits so keenly, because the comics are so great, and really, he’s been leaning so much about magic from the peripatetic story-teller and the graphic novels (to give them their correct name).
Dyw e ddim yn gwybod be’ yw’i hoff beth, rhwng yr holl seremonïau, a lladd, a mynd i’r Nw Yrth, a’r rhegi barddonol, a’r ieithoedd estron, ac O, y lluniau ‘na o feddi siaradus gyda thyrrau gleision, a’r baban o fwtant! Ond falle'r ffrwydradau i gyd yw’r peth gorau, ond eto i gyd, dyna’r creaduriaid arallfydol sy eisiau cymryd y Ddaear drosodd, heb sôn am y Cyfanfyd oll. ‘Neno Wezir (sy’n un o’r cymeriadau mwya’ pwysig, gyda llaw), mae David eisiau bod yn Ddewin pan fydd yn tyfu lan. A dyma ddechrau’r stori –He doesn’t know what is his favourite thing, what with all the ceremonies, and slaying, and going to the Nw Yrth, and the poetic swearing, and the strange languages, and Oh, those pictures of talking tombs, and blue towers, and the mutant baby! But perhaps the best thing is all those explosions. By Wezir (who’s one of the most important characters, by the way), David wants to be a Wizard when he grows up! And here's the beginning of the story –
"Filenia yn ôl, fe ddatguddiodd Lugal-mach, yr hen sêr-ddewin, aelod o’r genedl Ubaid, lyfrau sanctaidd o’r enw ‘Dingir Gal-gal-ngu-ne-ra’ (hynny yw, ‘Ar gyfer Fy Nuwiau Mawr Oll’), yn adfeilion dinas chwedlonol Eridu. Roedd y rhain wedi cael eu danfon i’r Ddaear yn ystod gwawr y lleuad goch, pan ddidolwyd trefn oddi wrth anrhefn ar y Nw Yrth gan weision y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd. Roedden nhw’n bwriadu denu bodau dynol chwilfrydig, unigolion oedd yn awyddus i ddysgu cyfrinachu o bob math, gan ddymuno cael gwybod sut i drin pŵer, rheoli pobl eraill a dylanwadu ar gyfeiriad digwyddiadau. Ac o syllu ar y tudalennau’n cynnwys cymaint o wybodaeth anghredadwy, wedi’u hadlewyrchu mewn drych sgrio, fe fyddai’r chwiliwr yn gweld delweddu’n ymrithio o’i amgylch…"Millennia ago, Lugal-mach, the old astrologer, a member of the Ubaid people, unearthed the sacred books called ‘Dingir Gal-gal-ngu-ne-ra’ (that is, 'For All the Great Gods') in the ruins of the fabled city of Eridu. These had been sent to Earth during the dawn of the red moon, when order and disorder were separated on the Nw Yrth by the servants of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers. They intended to tempt inquisitive human beings, individuals who were keen to learn secrets of all kinds, desiring to get to know how to wield power, control other people, and influence the course of events. And from staring at the pages containing so much unbelievable information, the seeker would see images materializing all around him…
“Ac fe fyddai’n gwledda’i lygaid ar luniau symudol, amryliw o’r hyn a fu, yr hyn sydd, a’r hyn a allai fod. Ond nid yr hyn a fydd yn ddiamau a ddangosid, mae rhaid pwysleisio, ond yn hytrach y canlyniadau tebycaf yn cydymffurfio â chwantau’r gwyliwr. O ganlyniad i’r amlygiadau ysgytwol a brofodd Lugal-mach wrth ddarllen y symbolau byw, fe ddarfu iddo wneuthur sawl peth. Y cyntaf ohonynt oedd gofannu cleddyf deufin wedi’i fendithio â rhaib hynafol yn Swmereg, sy’n rhedeg; ‘Nid marw’r fath beth a eill huno am hydoedd; A’r Angau Glas drengo ar ben dirgel oesoedd.’ Ac fe’i tymherodd â’i waed ei hun…“And he would feast his eyes on multi-coloured moving pictures of what has been, what is, and what could be. But it is not the things that will be without a doubt which would be shown, we must emphasize, but rather the most likely outcomes according with the desires of the watcher. As a result of the shocking revelations Lugal-mach experienced whilst reading the living symbols, it came to pass that he did several things. The first of them was to forge a two-edged sword blessed with an ancient hex in Sumerian, which runs: 'That is not dead which can eternal lie; And with strange aeons even Death may die,’ and he infused it with his own blood…
“Wedyn, frawyched dweud, roedd rhaid iddo’i offrymu'i hun mewn tân, er mwyn iddo gael ei aileni ar ffurf baban gwyrthiol fel, o’r diwedd, wedi aeddfedu a dioddef sawl profedigaeth, y gallai groesi’r gofod i’r Nw Yrth ar ffurf dyn ifanc, golygus. Ac yn awr yr wyf fi, Sorakados y Tywysog, wedi llwyddo i ddarganfod cyfrinachau fy etifeddiaeth, er mai yn gyntaf oll yr oedd rhaid imi syllu am oriau ar yr enfys o olew a chwyrlïai ar wyneb du fy nrych sgrio wrth gynhemlu uwchben y llyfr hynafol. O wneuthur hyn, ac aros gan lafarganu, fe ddeuthum i sylweddoli mai myfi yw’r hen sêr-ddewin, a’m henw’n golygu ‘Swynwr’ yn iaith gysefin y Nw Yrth, ac y bydd arnaf angen dilyn trywydd Lugal-mach…"Then, terrifying to relate, it was necessary for him to immolate himself in fire, in order that he might be reborn in the form of a miraculous babe, so that, finally, having matured and endured a number of trials, he could cross the void to the Nw Yrth in the form of a handsome young man. And now I, Sorakados the Prince, have succeeded in discovering the secrets of my inheritance, although first of all I had to stare for hours into the oily rainbow that swirled on the black face of my scrying-glass whilst meditating about the ancient book. By doing this, and waiting, chanting, I came realise that it is I who am the old astrologer, my name meaning ‘Sorcerer’ in the original language of the Nw Yrth, and that I shall need to follow the trail of Lugal-mach…
“Ac felly paratois i deithio’n syth i’r Nw Yrth, lle y crwydrwn yma a thraw, gan ysbïo ar bob peth a wnâi’r amryfal drigolion, wrth flasu pleserau di-sôn-amdanynt. Ond roeddwn yn gwybod yr arhoswn yno am byth oni bai am yr hudlath wedi’i harysgrifio â llythrennau rwnig, cochion a nerthol, a adawai i fi ddychwelyd yn iach fy nghroen drachefn i’r Ddaear ar wely hedegog ac arno adenydd eryr gwyn. Ac yn hyn o beth, byddwn yn debyg i ryw Ddewin arall o fri a wisgai fantell lwyd i ddechrau, a droai’n glaerwyn ar ôl iddo godi o farw’n fyw wedi cael ei ladd gan gythraul fflamllyd...“And so, I prepared to travel straight to the Nw Yrth, where I would wander yonder and anon, spying on every thing which the multifarious inhabitants did, whilst tasting pleasures unheard-of. But I knew that I would stay there for ever if it were not for the wand inscribed with runic letters, red and powerful, which would allow me to return unscathed to the Earth, on a flying bed with the wings of a white eagle. And in this matter I would be like some other renowned Magus who wore a grey mantle to start with, which turned blazing white after he came back to life having been killed by a flaming demon...
“A phedwar tocyn y deuthum â nhw i’m cynorthwyo ar y daith, er mwyn talu teyrnged a bodloni’r gwarchodwyr sydd i’w cael yno. Am y byddai heriau i’w hwynebau ar y cilbyst rhwng y Ddau Fyd, ar lan Afon Wylofus, ar drothwy Dinas y Sigwratau, ac yn y Goedwig Emog. Ac felly yr oedd gennyf lain cyn lased â llygaid baban heb ei eni yn y bru, carreg cyn ddued â phechod y Ddaear oll, o Dŷ Aileni, hedyn cyn wyrdded â’r plancton yn y Môr Mawr Llwyd sy’n chwerthin bob tro am ben ofergoeledd yr hil ddynol, a phluen cyn wynned â’r gwynt wedi’i phlycio o ystlys Sarff Asgellog...“And four tokens I took to aid me on the journey, in order to pay tribute and assuage the guardians who are to be found there. For there would be challenges to be faced at the gatepost between the Two Worlds, on the shore of the Tearful River, at the threshold of the City of the Ziggurats, and in the Bejewelled Forest. And so, I had a bead as blue as the eyes of an unborn babe in the womb; a stone as black as the sin of the whole Earth, from the House of Rebirth; a seed as green as the plankton in the Great Grey Sea that’s always laughing at the futility of the human race; and a feather as white as the wind, plucked from the flank of a Winged Serpent…
“Ymhellach, yr oeddwn yn dwyn yn fy nwylo dwy ddoli clwt i fod yn aberth pe byddai angen; ac fel dyn marw, yr oeddwn yn cludo dau ddarn arian yn fy ngheg yn anrheg i’r Gwylwyr Trachwantus. Yn fy ngwregys wedi’i chau â gwäeg o aur yr oedd y cleddyf hudol. Am y golygfeydd rhyfedd roeddwn wedi cael fy rhybuddio ymlaen llaw gan y delweddau. Ac yn wir, fe welais ddyn cloff yn gyrru mul a lwythwyd â meddiannau, a chyfoeth, a memrynau; hen wragedd yn gwau tynged y ddynolryw ar wŷdd enfawr o esgyrn; a gŵr marw yn boddi yn yr afon rhwng teyrnasoedd bod ac anfod. A dyna oeddwn hefyd ar y ffin rhwng byw a marw, rhwng y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth. Ond er yr holl synau iasol – yr esgyrn yn crensian; y trychfilod yn ddi-ball rincian, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er; y siacaliaid yn udo at y cigfrain ysbeilgar –euthum yn syth heibio iddynt..."Moreover, I was carrying in my hands two rag-dolls to be a sacrifice if there were need; and like a dead man, I transported two coins in my mouth as a present for the Avaricious Watchers. In my belt, fastened with a golden buckle, there was the magical sword. About the weird vistas, I had been warned beforehand by the images. And indeed, I saw a lame man driving a mule loaded with possessions, and riches, and parchments; an old woman weaving the fate of humanity on a massive loom of bone; and a dead man drowning in the river between the realms of being and non-being. And there was I also, on the boundary between living and dying, between the Earth and the Nw Yrth. And despite all the eerie sounds -- the bones crunching; the insects constantly chirruping, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, the jackals howling at the marauding ravens -- I went straight past them...
"Rwyf wedi cerdded yn sgil y seren wib, wrth fynd heibio i garthbyllau dyfnaf y Byd Arall. Rydw i wedi teithio i lawr y Mynydd Gwydr, gan ddilyn Afon Dagrau tuag at y Môr Gwaedlyd liw nos. Wedi disgyn i fol yr Anghenfil Sarffaidd sydd yn byw yno yr wyf, a’m cludodd i’r Cyfandir Deheuol. Ac o’r diwedd rwyf wedi treiddio trwy brif borth Dinas Saith Sigwrat i’r Isfyd y tu hwnt. A dyma fi’n darogan a datgan yr hyn fydd yn digwydd o hyn ymlaen…"I have walked in the wake of the shooting star, whilst skirting the deepest cesspits of the Other World. I have journeyed down the Glass Mountain, following the River of Tears towards the Bloody Sea at night. I have descended into the belly of the Serpentine Monster that lives there, which transported me to the Southern Continent. And in the end I have broken through the main gate of the City of Seven Ziggurats into the Netherworld beyond. And here I foretell and declare what shall happen from now on…
"Yma yng nghanol y fforest o golofnau o ambr a fewnosodir â muchudd, ymysg y pentyrrau wedi’u hesgeuluso o ddiemwntau a gwyrddfeini, rhuddemau a saffirau, fe fydd eneidiau di-rif y rhai isel eu pennau’n ymchwyddo o’m cwmpas yn fud, gan ddod â’u hanrhegion: hesbin berffaith‐gwbl, ceiliog du, chath wen, a hwrdd perffaith‐gwbl. Ond ni fydd arnaf angen y fath offrymau…"Here in the middle of the forest of columns of amber inlaid with jet-stone, amongst the unattended piles of diamonds and emeralds, rubies and sapphires, the countless shades of the dead and gone will surge around me silently, bringing their gifts: an unblemished ewe, a black rooster, a white cat, and a perfect ram. But I shall not need such offerings...
"Fe fyddaf yn dawnsio gyda’r hudoles hynaf, fwyaf glandeg, Tefnuth, y Dduwies a gyfradawyd gan ei gariad pan oedd hi ar fedr esgor ar eu plentyn. Bydd hi’n gwisgo gŵn hir o sidan du, menig gwynion, a thwrban coch. Ac fe fyddaf fi’n sisial geiriau serch yn ei chlustiau, megis, 'Ar y gwynt gwyllt hedfanwch, rhwng y byd hwn a'r llall. O deyrnas gwyll, fe welwch o'ch clwyd, gystuddiau'r byw; a gwylnos y meirwon.' A heb y gronyn lleiaf o amheuaeth, fe ddaw’i cheffylau ffrochus ag ysbryd fy Mam y Frenhines, a anfonwyd i farw cyn ei phryd gan ei Gŵr, fy Nhad y Brenin. Ac wedyn fe allaf fi ddwyn y Fam yn ôl i fywyd…"I shall dance with the most ancient, loveliest, temptress, Tefnuth, the Goddess who was abandoned by her sweet-heart when she was about to give birth to their child. She shall be decked in a gown of black silk, white gloves, and a red turban. And I shall whisper sweet nothings in her ears, such as, 'On the wild wind you fly, between this world and the other. From the twilight realm, you see from your perch, the trials of the quick; and the wake of the dead.' And without the least shadow of a doubt, her mad horses shall bring to me the spirit of my Mother the Queen, who was sent to death before her time by her Husband, my Father the King. And then I shall be able to bring my Mother back to life…
“Ymhellach, fe wnaf ymddiddan â Hebé, hanfod afreolus cariad a dial, a chynnig iddi fodrwyau o aur nes y diogelo ferch neilltuol sydd i fod yn wraig imi pan ddychwelaf. Hyhi sy’n dwyn baban a’i enaid yn berl drudfawr, o’i gymharu â’r lleill i gyd sydd mor frwnt â chytiau cŵn Annwfn, a’r Mab hwn, yr un nerthol i ddod, fydd yn etifeddu holl ogoniant y deyrnas maes o law...“Moreover, I shall commune with Hebé, the unruly essence of love and vengeance and offer her golden rings so that she may protect a certain girl who is to be wife to me when I return. It is she who is bearing a baby whose soul is a pearl of great price, compared with the all others which are as grubby as the Hell-hounds' kennels, and this Son, the powerful one to come, shall inherit all the glory of the kingdom in due course…
"Ar hyn o dro, o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun, fe fyddaf yn aberthu’r arall ar allor yr hunan, wedi’i gorchuddio â felfed porffor, gan gyfnewid un bywyd am y cread oll. Trwy nerth fy ngeiriau y dileaf bob peth a wnaed yn y Ddau Fyd, gan adael dim ond blagur gwyrdd adfywhad ymhlith adfeilion llwyd dinistr. Ar ôl hyn yr â f’awydd a’m hewyllys yn un â’i gilydd, ac fe una’r crëwr a’i wneuthuriad. Felly y lluniaf fyd newydd, lle mai gwirionedd a chwytho hwnt a thraw ar wynt fy nychymig. Ac yna, y pryd hynny, fe fyddaf yn esgyn i ogoniant!""At this point, by my own doing, I shall sacrifice the other on the altar of the self, draped with purple velvet, exchanging one life for the whole creation. Through the power of my words I shall annihilate all that was made in the Two Worlds, leaving only the green buds of regeneration amidst the grey ruins of destruction. After this my desire and my will shall become one with each other, and the creator shall unite with his making. Thus, shall I shall fashion a new world, in which truth blows hither and thither on the wind of my imagination. And then, at that time, shall I ascend to glory!"
Geiriau swynol yw’r rhain, wrth gwrs, ac roedd Sorakados y Tywysog yn llefaru o galon. Ac wedi darllen y llyfr ysgymun yn y modd a ddisgrifiwyd uchod, roedd yn credu’i fod wedi dysgu popeth i’w gael ohono. Ond er gwaetha’r hyn a allai fod wedi bod, roedd y Swynwyr wedi’i dentio i’r Nw Yrth drwy dwyll. Mae hanes ei gwymp yn hir a phoenus ei adrodd heb sôn am ei glywed. Ond nid oes ond rhaid dweud y canlynol yma. Cyn gynted ag iddo orffen ei ymson rhyfygus o flaen prif borth Dinas Saith Sigwrat, fe gododd gwynt creulon, ac ysgubo’r Tywysog ymaith.These are enchanting words, of course, and Sorakados was speaking from the heart. And having read the accursed book in the way described above, he believed that he had learned everything to be had from it. But despite that which would have been, the Sorcerers had tempted him to the Nw Yrth on false pretences. The tale of his downfall is long and painful to relate, let alone to hear. But only the following need be said here. A soon as he finished his presumptuous soliloquy before the chief gate of the City of the Seven Ziggurats, a cruel wind arose, and swept the Prince away.
Tra oedd yng nghrafangau’r storm, cafodd ei orfodi i ymladd yn erbyn llwyth o greaduriaid erchyll, yn cynnwys cnud o gŵn cynddeiriog, rheibus, a’u cyrff mor wyn â’r sialc yn siambr artaith rhyw athro cythreulig, eu llygaid cyn lased ag eiddo Tŷ Aileni yng nghanol yr anialwch coch, a’u clustiau mwy cringoch na’r fflamau fydd yn llosgi’r Ddaear yn ulw pan fydd yr Haul yn marw yn y dyfodol anhygoel o bell. Nesa’ fe laddodd rhan fwya’ o’r gre o geffylau fampiraidd gwyllt, a chan pob un wyth coes fel yn hen chwedlau’r Llychlynwyr, a oedd yn brathu, a stampio, a sathru, a gweryru fel petai’r Ddau Fyd ar ben. Ac wedyn fe gafodd ei ollwng, bron yn noeth, ac yn waed a chleisiau i gyd, ymhlith fforest enfawr o binwydd ac ynddi greaduriaid arallfydol o bob math, a siâp, a maint, fyddai’n ymosod arno’n enbyd ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr.While he was in the talons of the storm, he was forced to fight against a host of dread creatures, including a pack of voracious, rabid dogs, with bodies as white as the chalk in some devilish teacher’s torture-chamber, eyes as blue as those of the House of Rebirth in the middle of the red desert, and ears more ginger than the flames that shall singe the Earth to a cinder when the Sun dies in the incredibly far future. Next, he slew the majority of the flock of wild, vampiric horses, each one of which had eight legs like in the old tales of the Norsemen, and was biting, and stamping, and trampling, and whinnying as if the Two Worlds were at an end. And then he was dropped, almost naked, and covered in blood and bruises, amongst an enormous forest of pines in which there were otherworldly creatures of every kind, and shape, and size. which would eventually set upon him terribly.
Ac yn y byd go iawn (os gellir ei alw felly), yn y gwely simsan, mae’n harwr ni o lanc, David, yn dychmygu teithio i fydoedd eraill, gan fyw bywydau eraill. Ar bob ochr mae’n clywed Hebé y gaseg lwyd rithiol, yn gweryru heb rwystr, a thyllau’i llygaid yn belenni fflamgoch, a’i chyrff esgyrnog yn crychlamu fel petai wedi’i wneud o arian byw. Ond yna fe siomir e'n ddirfawr o ddarllen am dranc Sorakados mewn coelcerth fflamllyd ar ôl cael ei dwyllo gan Swtach, gwas i’r Swynwyr.And in the real world (if such it can be called), in the wobbly bed, our heroic lad, David, imagines journeying to other worlds, living other lives. On every side he hears Hebé the spectral grey mare neighing without restraint, and her eye sockets are balls of fire, and her bony body leaps as if it were made of quicksilver. But then he is sorely disappointed to learn about the demise of Sorakados in a flaming bonfire after being tricked by Swtach, servant to the Sorcerers.
Ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, mae David yn breuddwydio a dymuno nerth ei enaid y medrai ddianc, a mynd yno, i foddio’i lygaid ei hun ar ryfeddodau’r Nw Yrth. Ac yno fe fyddai’n ymladd yn erbyn Tefnuth, Arglwyddes y Meirwon, yn ei thiriogaeth fud lawn cyfoeth a moethau sy ddim o werth i neb yno, ond y tro hwn byddai’r dyn marwol yn ennill a honni’r wobr deilwng. Wrth gwrs, pe bai’r Wyddfa’n gaws fe fyddai’n haws cael cosyn, ond yn gyffredinol, dyw’r byd ddim yn cydymffurfio ag ewyllys dyn er cymaint pŵer ei feddyliau, ydy e? Ond, wedi dweud hynny, mae pwerau swynol yn wahanol, ac mae wastad le i obeithio, on’d oes? Ac mewn gwirionedd, gyda’r fath ddymuniad, dyma agor porth i’r Dduwies Decaf, a Mwyaf Marwol, ddod drwyddo.But despite that, David dreams and desires with all his might that he could escape, and go there, to feast his own eyes on the wonders of the Nw Yrth. And there he would fight against Tefnuth, Mistress of the Dead, in her speechless dominion full of wealth and luxury that are of no worth to anyone there, but this time the mortal would win and claim the appropriate prize. Of course, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, but in general, the world does not conform to a man's will, no matter how powerful are his thoughts, does it? But, having said that, magical powers are different, and there's always room to hope, isn't there? And in fact, with such a desire, a gate opens for the Fairest, and Most Deadly, Goddess to come though.
Ac felly un nos, mae’n trio mor galed i chwarae rhan Sorakados, dewr ond byrbwyll, yn y Byd Arall, er mwyn achub ei Mam druan, ei angyles wedi'i dirboeni, y bu bron iddi farw wrth ei ddwyn i’r byd, a dod â hi’n ôl o’r tu hwnt i’r bedd. A’r munud yna, pan fydd ei waed yn arllwys mewn llid mud i’r ffiol rad o bres mae wedi’i dwyn o’r siop drugareddau, mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai’r tywyllwch dirmygus wedi’i rwygo gan drwst o daran digon i hollti’i ben. Ym mhob man mae llewych fiolet a drycsawr osôn, ac mae beichio chwerthin annynol yn atseinio drwy’r ‘stafell wely ddrewllyd. Ond wedyn, dim byd. Falle dylai’r bachgen twp fod wedi deall taw neb yn y Ddau Fyd sy’n gallu galw ysbryd yn ôl yn fyw o afael y Medelwr Didostur. Ac mae’r llanc anghysuradwy’n crio ei hun i gysgu unwaith eto, y tro hwn mewn gwely gwaedlyd, wrth i ryw gyfran o’i bŵer hudol ddiflannu oddi mewn iddo. Ac ar ben hynny, dyma ddau o’r Swynwyr Milain yn dod i mewn i fywyd David.And so, one night, he tries so hard to play the part of brave but foolhardy Sorakados in the Other World, in order to rescue his poor Mam, his tortured angel, who almost died while bringing him into the world, and bring her back from beyond the grave. And that minute when his blood spills in silent fury into the cheap brass goblet he's pinched from the junk-shop, it feels like the mocking darkness has been torn open by a peal of thunder sufficient to split his head open. Everywhere, there's an ultraviolet glow and a stench of ozone, and some inhuman guffawing echoes through the smelly bedroom. But then, nothing. Perhaps the silly boy should've known that no-one can call a spirit back to life from the grip of the Grim Reaper. And the inconsolable lad cries himself to sleep once again, this time in a bloody bed, while some portion of his magical power disappears from within him. And on top of that, this is when two of the Savage Sorcerers come into David’s life.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 14

Pennod Deunaw: Aeddfedu (Lleisiau 14) / Maturing (Voices 14)

Yn ystod y dydd, arlliwir cysgodion wedi’u taflu gan yr Haul â glas. Mae’r golau sydd yn cyrraedd yr awyrgylch yn uniongyrchol o’r Haul yn cynnwys pob lliw. Fodd bynnag, glas yw lliw’r golau cefndir yn llenwi’r awyr oherwydd maint y molecylau a gynhwysir ynddi, sydd yn gwasgaru’r lliwiau eraill. Ymhellach, ni all gwrthrychau atal ond y golau melyn, llachar sydd yn eu cyrraedd yn syth o’r Haul, nid y golau glas o’r cefndir. Felly mae cysgodion yn cynnwys y fath olau glas sydd yn cyrraedd gwrthrych yn anuniongyrchol o rannau eraill yr awyr ac a all fynd o gwmpas yr ymylon.Gall golau lliw, golau wedi’i belydru gan darddleoedd lluosog, neu olau a adlewyrchir  gan sawl gwrthrych, greu cysgodion amryliw, cymhleth. Y mae arlunwyr yn defnyddio technegau fel ciarosgwro, silwét, ac effeithiau niwlog, er mwyn dynwared cysgodion o’r fath. Ar adegau y mae pobl yn gallu gweld cysgodion wedi’u bwrw ar wyneb y Ddaear gan yr Haul, y Lleuad, Gwener, ac Iau. Gyda chodiad yr Haul, a phan fydd yr Haul yn machludo, yn ystod yr oriau cyfnos, bydd y Ddaear yn taflu cysgod dulas neu laslwyd ar yr awyrgylch wrth y gorwel, er inni fethu ei adnabod yn aml. Yn yr un modd, awyr waedlyd fin nos ynteu yn y bore sydd yn dangos system bwysedd uchel, ac felly tywydd braf, yn dynesu neu’n ymadael, yn ôl eu trefn.

During the day, shadows cast by the Sun are tinted with blue. The light which reaches the atmosphere directly from the Sun contains every colour. However, blue is the background colour filling the sky because of the size of the molecules which are contained in it, which scatter other colours. Furthermore, objects can only hinder the bright, yellow light that reaches them directly from the Sun, not the blue light from the background. So, shadows contain this type of blue light which reaches the object directly from other parts of the sky, and which can go around their edges.Coloured light, light radiated by multiple sources, or light which is reflected from several objects, can create complex, multi-coloured shadows. Illustrators use techniques such as chiaroscuro, silhouette, and cloudy effects in order to imitate this kind of shadow. On occasions, people can see shadows cast on the Earth’s face by the Sun, the Moon, Venus, and Jupiter. At the rising of the Sun, and when the Sun sets, during the twilight hours, the Earth casts a violet or blue-grey shadow on the atmosphere near the horizon, although we often fail to recognise it. In the same way, a bloody sky in the evening, or in the morning, shows a high-pressure system, and thus fine weather, arriving or departing, respectively.

[David] On’d yw’n ddoniol meddwl sut mae geiriau, ac arogleuon, yn deffro atgofion am bethau? Doniol yn yr ystyr ‘rhyfedd,’ rwy’n feddwl, nage doniol yn yr ystyr ‘digrif.’ Ond, ddim cysgodion gwag yw’r rhain, y pethau mae pobl yn dweud, y sawrau, ond yn hytrach profiadau corfforol go iawn, sy’n rhewi’r galon, ac yn gwneud i’r mêr ferwi. Wedi’r cwbl, fi – y David Baxter newydd sbon – a ddylai wybod, fi sy ‘di diodde’ cryn drawsnewidiad gynnau fach, gan gael ‘y mwrw oddi ar ‘yn echel i law chwith y cae, fi sy ‘di neidio drwy ystumdro amser, ac sy’n dal i hedfan o gwmpas ar ffigyr-êt erbyn hyn. Sut ‘naeth hyn oll ddigwydd? Wel dyna stori i chi, ‘swn i ddim ond yn gallu dwyn y ffeithiau i gof. Ond yma, nawr, sa i’n gw’bod, ond er ‘ny, dw i’m yn gallu cael gwared ar y geiriau ‘na sy ‘di nythu yn ‘yn meddwl – ‘Efe gaiff waed; ebe hwynt, Gwaed a geith waed.’[David] Isn’t it funny how words, and smells, awake memories about things? Funny in the sense of ‘strange’, I mean, not funny in the sense of ‘entertaining.’ But, these aren’t empty shadows, the things people say, the scents, but rather real, physical experiences, which freeze your heart, and make your blood boil. After all, it’s me – the brand-new David Baxter – who should know, it’s me who’s undergone quite a transformation a little while back, getting knocked off balance into left-field, me who’s jumped through a time-warp, and who’s still flying about on a roller-coaster now. How did all this happen. Well that’s a story for you, if I could only bring the facts to mind. But here, now, I don’t know, but despite that, I can’t get rid of those worlds that’ve nested in my mind – ‘It will have blood, they say, Blood will have blood.’
[Steffan] Hei, ti, fachgen ar goll, y sinach bach, Staffy, w! Dere ‘mlaen, nawr, gan bwyll, gwboi! Fi sy ‘ma, ti, Stevo o’r dyfodol – rwyt ti’n ddyn erbyn hyn (fi sy’n ddyn dw i’n feddwl)! Dw i’n mynd i weud wrthot ti be’ fydd yn digwydd i ti, iawn? ‘Sdim brawd ‘da ti, er gwaetha’r addewidion, dim ond chwaer annisgwyl o’r enw Elen – y forwyn ddihalog ‘na wedi’i bendigo saith gwaith – Astolat, Benoic, Corbenic, Garlot, Listenoise, y Ddigymar, yr Iau -- dwyt ti’m yn nabod hi ‘to, er fod di’n breuddwydio amdani bob nos. Wel, hmm, ti heb y model rôl gwryw ‘na ti wastad wedi chwennych amdano fe, achos bod dy Dad wedi rhedeg bant gyda’r ferch fach ‘na oedd wedi priodi â’r hen smyglwr neu beth bynnag ar y ‘stad. Nawr 'te, paid di â phoeni, gad i’r llanc hŷn ‘ma, gydio ynot ti, dy ddal di’n dynn, rhoi cwtsh mawr i ti, fel dim ond dyn go iawn yn gallu’i ‘neud. Dw i’n gw’bod i ti gael dy fwrw i’r dwfn, a fod di wastad wedi bod mewn trafferth, yn boddi mewn tensiwn a drama. Bues i yno ‘fyd, cofia di![Steffan] Hey, you, lost boy, you little creep, Staffy, mun! Come on, now, steady on cowboy! It’s me here, Stevo from the future – you’re a man by now (me who’s a man I mean)! I’m going to tell you what’ll happen to you, OK? You don’t have a brother, despite that promises, only an unexpected sister called Elen – that immaculate virgin seven-times blessed -- Astolat, Benoic, Corbenic, Garlot, Listenoise, the Incomparable, the Younger – you don’t know her yet, although you dream about her every night. Well, hmm, you don’t have that male role-model you’ve always yearned for, because your Dad has run off with the that little girl who was married to the old smuggler or whatever on the estate. Now then, don’t you worry, let this older lad grab onto you, hold you tight, give you a big cuddle, like only a real man can do. I know that you’ve been thrown in at the deep end, that you’ve always been in trouble, drowning in tension and drama. I was there too, remember!
[David] Bron yn ddau ar bymtheg dw i bryd hyn, gyda’r pen-blwydd jyst rownd y gornel, ac mae’n oedran hudol, dw i’m y gwybod pam – mae’r arholiadau uffernol mor bwysig, ac yn dod yn nes nes. Dw i newydd ddianc o wers ddwbl Saesneg ddifflach, ac rwy’n hanner canolbwyntio ar y llyfr o’n blaen i, hanner hel meddyliau, hanner pendwmpian, hanner bwrw hud. ‘Neno Lushfé, faint o haneri allai fod ym mywyd un llanc? Ta be, wrth drio ‘neud yr holl bethau ‘ma, a ffaelu, dw i’n cael ‘y nghysuro gan y set deledu ar fin mynd a'i phen iddi, sy’n darlledu geiriau rhyw hen ben parablus, penfoel o’r enw John Balrog Grossmann. Mae hwn yn ddarlledwr enwog o Aberdydd, tad pwy oedd wedi ffoi dros y Môr Dwyreiniol yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr, gan ddod yn smyglwr rhyngwladol adnabyddus. A dyma’i lais yn ceisio anwesu’n ymwybod swrth—[David] I’m almost seventeen by now, with the birthday just round the corner, and it’s a magical age, I don’t know why – the hellish exams are so important and they’re getting closer and closer. I’ve just escaped from an uninspiring double-English lesson, and I’m half concentrating in the book in front of me, half turning things over in my head, half dozing, half casting spells. In Lushfé’s name, how many halves could there be in one boy’s life? Anyway, while trying to do all these things, and failing, I’m reassured by the TV set that’s about to give up the ghost, which is broadcasting the words of some old, bald talking head called John Balrog Grossmann. He’s a famous broadcaster from Aberdydd, whose father had fled over the Eastern Sea during the Great Tribulation, becoming a well-known international smuggler. And his voice is trying to caress my sullen consciousness-
[Teledu] “Cynlluniwyd yr adeiladau eu hun, a leolir yn nhir wedi’i adennill o Feysydd-y-Tywod, gan Sven Rundskop o’r Tiroedd Isel. Dechreuwyd codi ym 1960, a gorffennwyd ef ym 1966. Cyn yr aildrefnwyd llywodraeth leol yn ddiweddaraf, pencadlys balch Pwyllgor Tref Aberdydd fu’r cyfadeilad hwn, ac yn awr, rhan o swyddfeydd Bro Gymunedol Aberdydd ydy.”[Television] “The buildings themselves, which are located in land reclaimed from the Sand-Fields, were planned by Sven Rundskop from the Lowlands. Building was begun in 1960, and it was finished in 1966. Before local government was reorganised most recently, this complex was the proud headquarters of Aberdydd Town Council, and now, it is part of the offices of Aberdydd Community Region.”
[David] Dw i’n gwenu wrth ochneidio, ac wedyn llusgo ‘yn hunan yn ôl at destun y Bardd – wel, yr hen Wilhelm o leia’, achos bod Almaenwr oedd e, nage Cymro – rwy’n ceisio’i gyfieithu i’r Gymraeg – ‘dwn i’m pam. Pam fyddai’n sgrifennu yn y Saesneg ta be, neu falle taw hen Almaeneg ydy? Ond dw i’n dwlu ar yr hanes arswyd am ysbrydion sy’n gweini ar feddyliau meidrolion, tra’u llanwant o’r corun i’r sawdl â chreulondeb enbytaf, gan dewychu’u gwaed! Mae fel rhyw lyfr comics gwych, w! Ardderchog![David] I smile while I sigh, and then drag myself back to the text of the Bard – well, old Wilhelm at least, ‘cos he was a German, not Welsh – I’m trying to translate into Welsh – I dunno why. Why would he write in English anyway, or perhaps it’s Old German? But I love the horror story about spirits that wait of mortals’ thoughts, while filling them from head to toe with direst cruelty, thickening their blood! It’s like some excellent comic-book, mun! Awesome!
[Steffan] Wrth gwrs mod i ‘di bod ble rwyt ti nawr, ond creda di fi, bydd pethau’n mynd i newid yn ddigon buan, mêt. Ti sy’n mynd i ddarganfod ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr taw gwych fydd dod yn dal iawn pan fod di’n ifanc o hyd; ‘nei di hyd yn oed dyfu barf cyn y cryts eraill! Ambell un fydd yn edmygu ‘ny, ta p’un. Dw i’n cyfadde’ byddi di’n dechrau edrych yn union fel Dad, ond, byddi’n dalach o lawer, a ‘naiff y mynd yn foel aros nes i ti fod yn ddeg ar hugain. ‘Nei di bethau yn dy amser da dy hunan, ‘lly bydd popeth yn iawn yn y diwedd![Steffan] Of course I’ve been where you are now, but believe me, things will be going to change soon enough, mate. You’re going to discover in the end that it’s great to get really tall when you’re still young, you’ll even grow a beard before the other kids! A few’ll admire you anyway. I admit you’ll start to look just like Dad, but you’ll be a lot taller, and the going bald will wait till you’re thirty. You’ll do things in your own time, so everything’ll be fine in the end!
[David] Ac mae’n codi croen gŵydd arna i lyncu mêr gwefreiddiol o esgyrn y geiriau sy’n bygwth torri’n ysgyrion yn ‘y nghorn gwddf, dim ond i ‘nhagu i, fel ‘sen nhw’n deilchion o ryw ddrych hudol. Ac wedyn byddai’n ysgyfaint i’n nofio yn ‘y ngwaed ‘yn hunan – gyda rhywun yn gweiddi o hyd ei lef – ‘Ai dagr yw hwn rwy’n ei weld o’m blaen i?’[David] And it gives me goose-bumps to slurp up the electrifying marrow from the bones of the words which threaten to splinter in my throat, only to choke me, as if they were fragments of some magic mirror. And then my lungs would be swimming in my own blood – with someone shouting at the top of his lungs – ‘Is this a dagger I see before me?’
[Steffan] A dwi’n medru gweud yn hyderus fe fydd y gwaith caled yn werth y drafferth. Meddylia am dy Wncwl Procter. Roedd e’n gallu ennill Tystysgrif mewn Astudiaethau, ar ôl iddo adael y fyddin neu rywbeth, gan ‘neud yr holl ymchwil i bynciau rhyfedd, gwelyau hedegog anhysbys, iwffos, cyfathrebu gyda bodau arallfydol, pethau fel ‘ny. A hynny oll, y pŵr dab, er bu farw ei wraig a’i ferch, dyna’r gwir. ‘Lly ti’n gorfod sylweddoli bydd problemau ‘da ni i gyd ar amserau. Fe wn i fod dy helbulon yn ymddangos yn ofnadw’, ond, mewn gwirionedd, ‘naiff pethau wella. Wrth gwrs fydd hyn ddim yn ‘neud dy fywyd di’n haws y munud ‘ma, ond, wel, well i ti ddwg ‘ny mewn cof, ar bob cyfri’, w![Steffan] I can confidently say that all the hard work’ll be worth the trouble. Think about your Uncle Procter. He was able to get a Certificate in Studies, after he’d left the army or something, doing all that research into strange topics, unidentified flying beds, UFOs, communicating with extra-terrestrials, things like that. And all that, the poor dab, although his wife and daughter died, that’s the truth. So, you have to realise that we all have problems at times. I know your tribulations seem awful, but, really, things’ll get better. Of course, this won’t make your life easier this minute, but, well, you’d better bear that in mind on all accounts, mun!
[David] A dyma fi, yn ôl yn ‘y mebyd, un ar ddeg oed erbyn hyn, yn yr un ‘stafell wely, ond mae’r lliwiau’n wahanol, yn lanach, a mwy claer. Mae’r ymadrodd bach ‘na wedi ‘y lluchio ‘nôl; nawr rwy’n swatio dan y cwilt llethol, brwnt ‘to. Ond fyddwn i ‘rioed wedi’i w’bod e’r pryd ‘na – y dywediad ‘na, y fath eirfa – ta p’un i. Wel, fyddai Dad ‘rioed wedi siarad fel ‘na – cyn iddo fe – ddiflannu – er – serch ‘ny – dw i’m yn siŵr, falle byddai – alla i’m cofio.[David] And here I am, back in my childhood, eleven years old now, in the same bedroom but the colours are different, cleaner, and brighter. That little expression’s flung me back; now I’m snuggling under the dirty, oppressive quilt again. But I would never have known it then – that saying, that kind of vocab – anyway. Well, Dad never would’ve spoken like that – before he – disappeared – but, despite that – I’m not sure, perhaps he would – I can’t remember.
[Steffan] Fe fyddet ti’n dwlu ar ddod i nabod dy chwaer, a bod yn onest, i fwynhau ei chwmni, rhannu dy broblemau, a mynd ar anturiaethau. Bydd y syniad o gwrdd, o ddod at eich gilydd, o fyw’n ddedwydd byth oddi ar ‘ny, yn rhoi rhywbeth i ti fyw er ei fwyn yn dy ddyddiau mwya’ tywyll, gan dy gynnal di drwyddo. Byddet ti’n cysylltu â hi, ‘sai pethau’n wahanol, ond dan yr amgylchiadau, ‘lly y bydd.[Steffan] You’d love to get to know your sister, to be honest, to enjoy her company, share your problems, and go on adventures. The idea of meeting, of getting together, of living happily ever after will give you something to live for in your darkest day, keeping you going. You’d get in contact with her, if things were different, but under the circumstances, that’s how it’s to be.
[David] Roedd hi (Mam dw i’n ei golygu nawr) wedi mynd bant i ganu’i thelyn gyda’r angylion – wedi marw – er mod i’n casáu’r gair. ‘Lly gaeth Dad ei ryddhau i hala mwy o amser oddi cartre’ nag erio’d o’r blaen, ac fe fyddai’n cerdded ar y Ddaear, gan fynd o gwmpas ei bethau. Masnachu â’r crachach ran fwya’r amser, fe ddwedodd e wrtha i. Gwerthu pethau gwerthfawr. Rhoi iddyn nhw beth maen nhw eisiau. Darparu gwasanaeth hanfodol. Dod o hyd i nwyddau anodd cael gafael arnyn nhw. Cludo sylweddau arbennig. Cynorthwyo’r cystuddiedig. A llawer o bethau eraill do’n i’m yn gallu deall. Ta be’, ‘nâi fe adael llonydd i fi ddysgu ar ‘y mhen ‘yn hunan yn aml iawn. Wel, roedd y ci dwl, a’r chwaer hyfryd, a’r chwilod swynol dan ‘yn ofal i, dyna i gyd, sbo, ar ôl i fi gael gwaed ar ei frawd, y Brawd ffiaidd ‘na, o leia’.[David] She (Mam I mean now) had gone off to play her harp with the angels – had died – although I hate the world. So Dad was let off to spend more time away from home that ever before, and he would walk the Earth, going about his own business. Doing business with the snobs most of the time, he told me. Selling expensive things. Giving them what they want. Providing essential services. Finding difficult to get hold of goods. Transporting special substances. Giving succour to the afflicted. And lots of other things I didn’t understand. Anyway, he left me in peace to study on my own very often. Well, there was the stupid dog, and the lovely sister, and the enchanting beetles under my care, that’s all, s’pose, after I got rid of his brother, that hateful Brother, at least.
[Steffan] Wrth gwrs, cyfeillgarwch gyda chwaer yw un peth, ond bydd yr holl astudio i ‘neud. Wedi’r cwbl, bywyd o synfyfyrio tawel fydd dy dynged di, reit, ‘achan, achos fyddi di’m am fod at dy glustiau mewn perthnasau a dramâu. Ond rwy’n addo fe fyddi di’n dwlu ar gael tipyn bach o hwyl gyda’r llanciau, siŵr o fod, ‘fyd, wel, rhaid cael rhyw amser sbâr nawr ac yn y man, rhwng yr ymchwil, meddwl, ‘sgrifennu, gweddïo, a be’ bynnag arall. Eto i gyd wejen fyddai’n neis i ti, on’ byddai, ‘lle? Fyddi di’m eisiau’i gorffen hi’n hen lanc heb yr un ffrind yn y byd.[Steffan] Of course, friendship with a sister’s one thing, but there’ll be all the studying to do. After all, a life of quiet contemplations is to be your fate, right, mate, ‘cos you don’t want to be up to your ears in relationships and dramas. But I promise you’ll love having a bit of fun with the lads, probably, too, well, you’ve got to have some spare time now and then, in between the research, studying, writing, praying, and whatever else. Then again, a girlfriend would be nice, wouldn’t it, p’rhaps? You don’t want to end up as an old bachelor without a single friend in the world.
[David] Ar dywyllwch y dŵr ryw’n syllu, wrth weud wrtha’n hunan am lacio’n llygaid. A dyma fi’n sylweddoli mod i ‘di colli’r teimlad yn ‘y nghoesau, wrth i fi ymestyn y breichiau i dylino ‘ngwar. Rwy’n trio peidio meddwl, ond mae rhywbeth yn yr awyr wedi ‘nghofio fi am y pethau ‘na sy ‘di digwydd lawer gwaith o’r blaen pan fydd 'yn chwaer hŷn yn dod ‘nôl yn hwyr – nosweithiau llawn piffian, a chusanu, a chwtsio ar y stepen drws. Ac mae’n codi pwys arna i, dyw’m yn deg na reit, ddim o gwbl. Sut allai hi ‘neud y fath bethau, a fi, ei brawd bach, yn llechu lan staer, gan edrych ar yr holl berfformiad mor frwd?[David] I’m staring at the darkness of the sea, whilst telling myself to relax my eyes. And I realise I’ve lost the feeling in my legs, as I stretch out my arm to massage the back of my neck. I’m trying not to think, but something in the air’s reminded me of those things that’ve happened lots of times before when my older sister comes home late – evenings full of giggling, and kissing, and cuddling on the door-step. And it makes me sick, it’s not fair, not right, not at all. How could she do such things, with me, her little brother, lurking upstairs, watching the whole performance so keenly?
[Teledu] “Addurnir yr adeiladau â cherrig cysegredig a ddygwyd o Breseli, ac y mae yno dŵr cloc art-deco rhyw gant o fedr o daldra. Dadleuol a dweud y lleiaf oedd y prosiect i gyd pan adeiladwyd y cyfadail oherwydd bod y pensaer yn mynnu defnyddio arddull o’r enw ‘hynafol noeth’ a oedd wedi mynd allan o fri y pryd hynny.”[Television] “The buildings are adorned with sacred stone brought from Preseley, and there is an art-deco clock-tower some hundred feet in height. The entire project was debatable to say the least when the complex was constructed because the architect insisted on using a style called ‘Naked Ancient’ which had gone out of fashion at that time.”
[David] Hmm, ac a sôn am farddoniaeth – O, am frithgi hirflew, drewllyd yw’r noson hon, pan ddigwydd Brad y Cyllell Hir, creadur sy’n torri gwynt yn uchel, wrth lafoerio ym mhobman, ac wedyn mynnu bwydo’n swnllyd unwaith yn rhagor, cyn syrthio i gysgu wedi lledu’i hun mor flêr dros gelfi twt y Bae Di-ben-draw ger glannau Afon Dagrau; O, un o hen gŵn brwnt Annwfn wyt ti’n wir![David] Hmm, and talking of poetry – Oh, what a stinky, long-haired mongrel is this night, when the Treachery of the Long Knife occurs, a creature that breaks wind loudly, whilst slobbering everywhere, and then insists on feeding noisily once again, before falling asleep having spread itself so messily across the tidy furniture of the Endless Bay by the banks of the River of Tears; Oh, one of the dirty old hounds of Hell are you indeed!
[Teledu] “Y mae’r tŵr glas enwog hwn yn arddangos arweddau nodweddiadol, megis ffureg (hynny yw pen blaen) cwch hir Llychlynnaidd, a fydd yn atgoffa gwylwyr o gymeriad hanesyddol o’r enw y Jarl Aber-Dyggðar, Glustiau Blewog, yr anturiwr y credir iddo sefydlu’r dref. Yn hen iaith mamau’r dras Ficingaidd, mae’n debyg bod y teitl yn golygu ‘Anhawster Rhinwedd.’ Wrth gwrs mae’r llysenw yn llefaru drosto ei hun.”[Television] “This famous blue tower displays characteristic features, such as the prow (that is the front end) of a Viking longboat, which will remind viewers of a historical character of the name of Hairy-Ears, the Earl Aber-Dyggðar, the adventurer who is believed to have founded the town. In the old language of the mothers of the Viking race, it is likely that the title means ‘Virtue’s Difficulty.’ Of course, the nickname speaks for itself.”
[Steffan] Balch iawn fyddi di o ddod o hyd i ffrind gorau – David Baxter yw ei enw e (neu, dyna fydd yr enw), ond bydd pawb yn defnyddio’r llysenw Dai (a llawer o bethau gwaeth, ‘fyd!). O’r braidd byddi di’n credu hyn. Mae’n iau na ti – rhyw flynyddoedd yw’r gwahaniaeth. Pam mae’n dy lico di? Pam dych chi’n ca’l cymaint o hwyl â’ch gilydd? ‘Dwn i’m, ond fe fyddi di’n teimlo’n braf gyda fe, fyddi di byth eisiau cefnu arno, er bydd e’n dy blagio di’n atgas bob amser.[Steffan] You’ll be dead proud when you find a best friend – David Baxter’s his name (or, that will be the name), but everyone used the nickname Dai (and lots of worse things, too!). You’ll hardly believe this. He’s younger than you – a few years’ difference. Why does he like you? Why do you have so much fun together? I dunno, but you’ll feel great with him, you’ll never want to turn your back on him, although he’ll be teasing you all the time.
[David] Dyma fi’n drifftio unwaith ‘to, nofio yn yr awyr, ymladd â’r cymylau, wrth gysidro, myfyrio, pwyso a mesur. Rwy’n trio peidio meddwl o hyd -- pwy yw ‘Nhad – ble mae e – beth mae’n ‘neud? Ond dyna’r peth gwaetha’ fi’n gallu ‘neud. Rwy eisiau gweddïo, ond alla i’m dod o hyd i’r geiriau cywir; dw i’n ceisio galw ar yr Hen Dduwiau, ond maen nhw’n gwadu’r ymbil.[David] And I’m drifting again, floating in the air, fighting the clouds while considering, meditating, weighing up. I’m trying not to think still – who is Dad – where is he -- what’s he doing? But that’s the worst thing I can do. I want to pray, but I can’t find the right words; I’m trying to invoke the Old Gods, but they’re denying my pleading.
[Teledu] “Cynhwysa’r gymhlethfa: Neuadd y Delweddau, Neuadd y Dre, a Llysoedd Cyfraith Fydol Aberdydd, a lleolir Llys Eglwysig y Sir gyferbyn â hi. Yn Neuadd y Delweddau yr arddangosir Panelau Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid, a gomisiynwyd ym 1966 er mwyn coffáu’r Daith rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Tra lliwgar, a phenigamp o addurnedig yw’r wyth panel baróc, o faint dirfawr.”[Television] “The complex contains the Hall of the Images, the Town Hall, and Aberdydd Worldly Law Courts, and the County Ecclesiastical Court is located opposite it. In the Hall of the Images are displayed the Panels of the Extremely Exalted Empire of the Yrthians, which were commissioned in 1966 to commemorate the Journey between the Two Worlds. Most colourful, and masterfully adorned are the eight baroque panels, of enormous size.”
[Steffan] Bydd yn wych mynd i’r pictiwrs ‘da Davie-boi ar nos Lun ar ôl y dosbarth celf i oedolion i wylio ffilm arswyd neu ddwy (oedolyn – Ww, dyna air i ti!). Fe fyddi di’n dwlu ar gomics ‘fyd, w, wedi’r cyfan, wel ‘nofelau graffig’ ta be’! Ond bydd yn chwithig pan fydd pawb o gwmpas yn ‘smygu’r mwg drwg, rhaid i ti fod yn garcus, ond anadlu tipyn bach fydd yn iawn, reit? Fe ‘naiff i ti deimlo’n wirion, dyna’r peth – Ww, mor dwp â’r hen Wncwl ‘na sy wastad yn gwisgo lan a siantio yn y fforest ar bwys yr hen fwthyn glas, neu yn ei seler, dw i’m yn siŵr. Eitha neis na fydd dim wejen ‘da Dai, dyna fyddai’n rhoi sbrag ynddi! O, Staffy ifanc, w, y sil mân sy’n llechu yn y cefndir! Rhaid i ti gredu bydd y pethau ‘ma’n mynd i ddigwydd. Blodeuo a ffynnu ‘nei di – ond, ych a fi, ddylwn i’m gweud ‘ny – dyna eiriau sy’n rhy athronyddol a mawreddog o’r hanner. Jyst gweud byddi di’n ‘neud yn iawn fyddai’n llawer gwell.[Steffan] It’ll be great to go the pictures with Davie-boy Monday nights after the adult art class to watch a horror film or two (adult – Oooh, there’s a word for you!). You’ll love comics, too, mun, after all, well, graphic novels anyway! But it’ll be awkward when everyone around you’s smoking the wacky-backy, you’ll have to be careful, but inhaling a bit’ll be OK, right? It’ll make you feel stupid, that’s the thing – Ooh, as silly as that old Uncle who’s always dressing up and chanting in the forest by the old blue cottage, or in the cellar, I’m not sure. It’s quite nice Dai hasn’t got a girlfriend, that would put a spoke in the wheels! Oh, young Staffy, mun, the small-fry who’s lurking in the background! You gotta believe that these things are going to happen. You’ll flower and flourish – but, yuck, I shouldn’t say that – those are words that are too philosophical and pompous by half. Just saying you’ll do well would be a lot better.
[Teledu] “Ar y cychwyn y bwriedid dangos y murluniau yn Nheml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig, ar ôl iddynt gael eu gwrthod gan Dŷ’r Llywodraeth yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, ond fe’u hystyrid yn rhy fodern ac aflednais oblegid yr holl gnawd noethlymun. Erbyn hyn, fodd bynnag, cefndir gogoneddus o afieithus i lawer o’r gweithgareddau fydd yn digwydd y tu mewn i ganolfan ddinesig Aberdydd ydynt. Fe gyfareddir pawb fydd yn bwrw llygad trostynt gan y delweddau arallfydol. Serch hynny, rhy arswydus i’w weld heb baratoad arbennig, yw un o’r paneli, sef ‘Bradychu Wezir gan Swtach.’”[Television] “Initially it was intended to display the murals in the Temple of the Hidden Glory, after they were refused by Government House in the Big, Bad, City, but they were considered too modern and vulgar due to all the uncovered flesh. By now, however, they are a gloriously exuberant background to many of the activities that take place inside Aberdydd civic centre. Everyone who casts an eye over them is enchanted by the otherworldly images. Despite that, one of the panels, namely ‘Wezir’s Betrayal by Swtach’ is too horrendous to be seen without special preparation.
[David] Yn sydyn, yn ôl yn y presennol – dyna floeddio a rhegi lawr staer – nage peth anghyffredin yn y tŷ ‘ma, David bach, rwy’n meddwl wrth ‘yn hunan wrth ruthro mas o’r ‘stafell wely. Mae’r lleuad lem yn syllu ar bopeth gan geryddu’n syn, wedyn, wedi ystyried am ychydig, mae’n gwenu mewn ysbryd o gyfeillach. Dyma fi’n agor drws y ffrynt a ‘nghalon yn ‘y ngwddf. Dad sy yma; o ble ma’ ‘di dod mor annisgwyl? Be’ sy ‘di digwydd – ma’ ‘di’i glwyfo’n ofnadw’ – ‘neno Wezir – o’r braidd gall e aros ar ei draed – ma’ gwaed – llifogydd o’r stwff, ym mhob man – sa i’n deall be’ ma’n weud – ma’ cynnwrf o fynd a dod tu mas i’r tŷ – dyna fachgen, fi, wedi’i ‘sgubo i mewn i fan wen yn llaid i gyd -- a dyna rywbeth arall – rhywbeth gwlyb a llonydd wedi’i lapio mewn – mewn cwilt? Ydy Dad wedi lladd rhywbeth – neu, rywun? Gyrru am hanner awr, am gwpl o oriau, falle, bydd ofn yn newid amser. A dyna ‘sgubo geiriau’r ddrama drosta i unwaith ‘to – ‘O, arswyd, ddychryn, ysgryd – dyma ffiaidd bwyll – Na ddywed tafod ei enw, na deall calon ei dwyll!’[David] Suddenly, back to the present – there’s shouting and swearing down stairs – not an uncommon thing in this house, David-boy, I think to myself while rushing out of the bedroom. The harsh moon is staring at everything, scolding in amazement, then, having considered for a bit, she smiles in a spirit of comradeship. I open the front door, my heart in my throat. Dad’s there, where’s he come from so unexpectedly? What’s happened – he’s terribly wounded – in Wezir’s name – he can hardly stay on his feet – there’s blood – floods of the stuff, everywhere – I don’t understand what he’s saying – there’s a hubbub of coming and going outside the house – then a boy, me, swept into a white fan covered in muck -- and there’s something else – something wet and still, wrapped up in – in a quilt? Has Dad killed something – or, somebody? Driving for half an hour, a couple of hours, maybe, fear changes time. And then the words of the play sweeping over me once again – ‘Oh, horror, terror, trembling – here’s a spirit vile – Which tongue speaks not his name, nor heart conceives his guile.’
[Steffan] Yn y dyfodol bydd y Brifdechneg yn Nhref Emrallt (wel, y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, fe ddylwn i weud) yn galw arnat ti (nage’r hen Boly-ysgol ofnadw’ yn Aberdydd!). Hmm, roedd Dad yn berwi am wleidyddiaeth bob amser, ac fe fyddai fe wedi dwlu ar dy weld di fel Cynrychiolydd y Werin yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, neu hyd yn oed Gwladweinydd Blaenorol, neu rywbeth. Penderfynu a dal ati fydd y pethau pwysica’. Fi sy’n gwybod bydd rhaid i ti weithio’n galed iawn, 'neud dy orau glas, a mwy, neu dim ond breuddwyd gwrach fydd hyn.[Steffan] In the future the Unitechnic in Emerald Town (well, the Big, Bad City, I should say) will be calling you (not the old, awful Poly-versity in Aberdydd!). Hmm, Dad was always on about politics all the time, and he would’ve loved seeing you as a People's Representative in Government House, or even Foremost Statesman, or something. Decision and dedication will be the most important things. I know you’ll have to work very hard, do your very best, and more, or this’ll all be just a pipe-dream.
[Teledu] “Heblaw am ei swyddogaethau gweinyddol, cynhelir seremonïau dinesig, cyngherddau, a digwyddiadau cymdeithasol yn y gymhlethfa hon. Ymhlith y defodau y mae cyfarfodydd gwobrwyo ysgolion, a chyflwyniad graddau’r Boly-ysgol.”[Television] “Apart from its administrative functions, civic ceremonies, concerts, and social events are held in this complex. Amongst the rituals there are school prize-givings, and the Poly-versity’s degree presentations.”
[David] Ac wedyn dyna rywbeth yn sblasio’n moch. Fi’n gwingo, gan drio cyffwrdd â’r lle a’i rwbio fe, ond fi’n taenu’r staen, y mefl, dros ‘yn wyneb yn lle. Slapiau llithrig i roi taw ar lanc wylofus. Rhywbeth wedi’i ‘neud o fetel, hir a gwlyb, ac eitha twym, wedi’i hwpo i ‘nwylo. Mae’r lleithder trioglyd, miniog yn ‘neud i fi wichian fel llygoden fawr mewn labordy, sy newydd gael sioc drydanol.[David] And then there’s something splashing my cheek. I squirm, trying to touch the place and rub it, but I spread the stain, the blemish, over my face instead. Slippery slaps to shut up a tearful lad. Something made of metal, long and wet, and quite warm, shoved into my hands. The sharp, treacly moistness makes me squeak like a just-electrocuted lab-rat.
[Steffan] Ond eto i gyd, wel, ti wastad wedi casáu a gwrthwynebu be bynnag mae Dad yn lico. O ran addysg felly, fe allem ni ddweud byddi di’n troi i’r iawn i gael hyd i alwedigaeth. Ar ôl dadlau’n ffyrnig gyda mynach sy’n ffrind i Dad, ac aelod o’r Frawdoliaeth Gwflog, o’r enw Yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, byddi di dros dy ben a’th glustiau mewn cariad â Dewiniaeth Lanaf, a gyrfa gyda’r Eglwys Gywir fydd yn aros. Dychmyga’r delfryd athronyddol, aruchel o ganfod y gwirionedd. Damcaniaeth, ystyried, gweiddi, marwhau, trafod, darostwng, egluro, derbyn. Ac felly fe fyddi di’n cymryd rhan ym mhroses mwya’ hynafol y byd, fel y caiff cysyniadau anghywir, a syniadau ffiaidd yn groes i’r rhai uniongred, yn ogystal â’r iaith sathredig a ddefnyddir gan y werin bobl a’r annysgedig i’w mynegi nhw, eu hysgubo ymaith yn llwyr oddi ar fwrdd y cyfamod, fel y medd Goruchwylwyr yr Eglwys Filwriaethus. A dim ond wedyn bydd gwirionedd, a threfn, a phurdeb, a nerth ysbrydol, drechu.[Steffan] But then again, well, you’ve always hated and opposed whatever Dad likes. In terms of education, then, we could say that you’ll see the light to find a calling. After debating fiercely with a monk who’s a friend of Dad’s and a member of the Cowled Brotherhood, called the Old Holy Warrior, you’ll be head over heels in love with Most Holy Divinity, and a career with the True Church awaits. Imagine the sublime philosophical ideal of discerning the truth. Hypothesis, consideration, praying, mortification, discussion, submission, illumination, acceptance. And so you taking part in the world’s most ancient process, so that incorrect concepts, and vile ideas contrary to the orthodoxy, together with the debased language used by the common folk and the uneducated to express them, shall be swept away entirely from the table of the covenant as the Overseers of the Church Militant say. And only then shall truth, and order, and purity, and spiritual power, prevail.
[Teledu] “Yno y perfformir cyngherddau o bob math, yn cynnwys, er enghraifft, Gwasanaethau Geni a Marwolaeth yng ngolau cannwyll, ymddangosiadau gan fandiau roc fel ‘Hebé Lwyd,’ ac adloniant traddodiadol gan Gôr Urdd y Cyfrinachau. Gŵyl Ficingaidd Aberdydd a’r dathliadau blynyddol o’r enw Cyrraedd y Môr-ladron yw enghreifftiau o ddigwyddiadau cymdeithasol a gynhelir ar gyfer hwyl y cyhoedd.”[Television] “There, there are performed concerts of all kinds, including, for example, candle-lit Birth and Death Ceremonies, appearances by rock bands such as ‘Hebé the Grey,’ and traditional entertainment by the Choir of the Guild of Secrets. Aberdydd Viking Festival and the yearly celebrations called Arrival of the Pirates are examples of social events that are held for public amusement.”
[Steffan] Ond, serch ‘ny, mae moddau’r fath athroniaeth farddonol, prosesau dewiniaeth fentrus, technegau’r Gwaith Mawr, mor anhrefnus yn eu hanfod, mor anfoddhaol. Fe fydd gormod o gyfleoedd i fod yn ansicr, i ‘neud camgymeriadau. Bydd rhaid i ti fod yn ofalus – paid ag ymlid y cysgod a cholli’r sylwedd – rhag i ti dy golli dy hunan mewn trobyllau affwysol synfyfyrio. Gan ‘ny, o ystyried popeth yn fanwl iawn byddi di’n casglu bydd rhaid i ti ganolbwyntio ar rifoleg, ar batrymau. Wedi’r cwbl, dyna’r meddwl dynol yn ymarfer ei allu creadigol ucha’, gan lawenhau yn defnyddio’i fedrau ysblennydd.[Steffan] But, despite that, the methods of such poetical philosophy, the processes of speculative divinity, the techniques of the Great Work, are so essentially disordered, so unsatisfactory. There’s too many opportunities to be unsure, to make mistakes. You’ll have to be careful – don’t go after the shadow and miss the substance – in case you lose yourself in unfathomable whirlpools of cogitation. So, having considered everything in great detail, you’ll conclude that you need to concentrate on numerology, on patterns. After all, that’s the human mind exercising its highest creative ability, rejoicing in using its splendid skills.
[Teledu] “Ers i’r Asiantaeth Ddarlledu Annibynnol Genedlaethol gomisiynu’r gyfres deledu eithriadol o boblogaidd o’r enw ‘Oddi mewn i’r Cysgodion’ gan Mamrick, ffilmiwyd sawl pennod y tu mewn i’r cyfadeilad —”[Television] “Since the National Independent Broadcasting Agency commissioned the exceptionally popular television series called ‘Out of the Shadows’ by Mamrick, several episodes have been filmed inside the complex—“
[David] Nage’r act ola’ ydy, nage’n wir, ddim o bell ffordd, ond y digwyddiad ‘ma fydd yn seilio’n tynghedau ni i gyd. Dyna fi’n clywed y gorchymyn wrth i ‘nghalon ddyrnu, fel ‘sai ‘mhen i bron â ffrwydro – a ‘sai ‘ny ‘di digwydd, nage fi fyddai’r unig greadur i farw’r noson ‘na, falle.[David] It’s not the last act, not by a long chalk, but in this case, but it’s this event that’ll seal all our fates. I hear the command as my heart drums, as if my head’s almost exploding – and if that’d happened, I wouldn’t be the only creature to die that night, maybe.
[Steffan] O fe fyddi di’n cysegru dy fywyd i’r ddisgyblaeth ‘ma. A saith fydd dy hoff rif o bell ffordd – y seithfed o Orffenna’ oedd pan gest ti d’eni – seithfed dydd y seithfed mis – ‘lly’r Cranc yw dy arwydd y Sidydd, a’r Tarw yn codi. A ‘fyd, ceir -- y Saith Corrach – y Saith Fôr – y Botasau Saith Lig – Saith Trefn Pensaernïaeth – Saith Lliw’r Enfys – Saith Cyfwng mewn Graddfa – Saith Cyfandir. Ac o wybod y daw hyder, medd y Brodyr mewn Gofal yn Athrofa’r Brifdechneg. Ie, rhifoleg, dyna beth fyddi di’n ‘neud, fe ddoi di’n rhifolegwr, rhywun sy’n meddwl, synfyfyrio, creu, egluro, profi, darogan, addysgu. Ac ymhen amser, byddi di’n cyrraedd gradd meddyliaethydd, falle. Wedyn bydd pawb yn difaru be maen nhw di ‘neud o’r blaen.[Steffan] Oh, you’ll consecrate your life to this discipline. And seven will be your favourite number by a long way – the seventh of July was when you were born – the seventh day of the seventh month – so your zodiac-sign’s the Crab, with the Bull rising. And also, there’s – the Seven Dwarfs – the Seven Seas – the Seven League Boots – the Seven Orders of Architecture – the Seven Colours of the Rainbow – Seven Intervals in a Scale – Seven Continents. And knowledge brings confidence, say the Brothers in Charge in the Unitechnic’s Seminary. Yes, numerology, that’s what you’ll do, you’ll become a numerologist, someone who thinks, meditates, creates, explains, tests, predicts, educates. And in time, you might attain the grade of mentalist, maybe. Then everyone’ll regret what they’ve done before.
[David] Mae’r twymder gludiog, llethol, eisiau’n mygu fi. Ond wedyn dyna lais gwan Dad yn torri ar draws, fel chwythiad o oerni atgas, brau, yn ‘y nghnoi – geiriau’n syth o lygad y ffynnon yn wir – ac mae’n swnio fel bod ei ysbryd yn cyflym ‘sigo – ‘Dere ‘mlaen, fab – y gyllell, dyna hi – rho ffling iddi hi i’r afon ddrewllyd!’ A, wel, sa i’n siŵr, ond wrth gwrs, dyna be’ fe ‘na i. Ac y tro hwn, yn wir, fi sy eisiau lladd, â’n holl galon, a meddwl, ac enaid. A dyna fi’n siantio dro ar ôl dro, ’Tyrd, gad im’ dy gythru. Ni’th ddaliaf, ond fe’th ddaliaf di yn wir.’[David] The oppressive, sticky warmth wants to suffocate me. But then Dad’s voice cuts across, like a blast of brittle, hateful coldness, gnawing at me – words straight from the horse’s mouth indeed – and it sounds like his spirit’s rapidly ebbing away – ‘Come on, son – the knife, that’s it – chuck it in the stinking river!’ Ah, well, I’m not sure, but of course, that’s what I do. And then, definitely, it's me who wanted to kill, with my whole heart, and mind, and soul. And I chant over and over, ‘Come, let me grab thee. I hold thee not, and yet I have thee still.’
[Steffan] Yn wir, dyna pam gest ti dy eni, siŵr o fod. O, sut beth fydd byw ymhlith yr ieuenctid prydferth, peniog, sêr y nefoedd, wrth ddysgu, trafod, tywynnu megis golau llachar mewn byd niwlog, datgelu gwirionedd, hedfan cyfuwch, yn agos at yr Haul, hyd yn oed, fel Thethalu a’i mab Ichrus yn dianc o’r lluoedd anfad gyda’u hadenydd o bapur, cwyr selio, a chorden. Rwyt ti’n amau na fydd gen ti’r gallu, y ddawn; fyddi’m yn llwyddo. Byddi di’n gweithio mor galed, fel na fydd yr arholiadau i gyd yn ormod. Dim ond o dro i dro fe gei di dy demtio gan y sbeis sbesial ‘na o Sansibar fydd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd yn roi i ti fel gelli di gael gwelidigaethau o ogoniant, rwy’n addo. Dwyt ti’m eisiau gadael i’r cyfle lithro drwy dy fysedd, neu aberthu dy fywyd yn ofer, wyt ti?[Steffan] Indeed, that’s why you were born, probably. Oh, what a thing it shall be to live amongst the brainy, beautiful youths, the stars of the heavens, whilst learning, discussing, shining like a resplendent light in a foggy world, revealing truth, flying so high, close to the Sun, even, life Thethalu and her son Ichrus escaping from the unclean hordes with their wings of paper, and sealing-wax, and string. You doubt you’ll have the ability, the talent, that you won’t succeed. You’ll work so hard, so that the exams won’t be too much. You’ll only occasionally get tempted by that special spice from Zanzibar that the Old Holy Warrior gives you so you can have visions of glory, I promise. You don’t want to let the chance slip through your fingers, or sacrifice your future for nothing, do you?
Ac yna, ar lan yr afon, tu blaen i’r Tŷ Glas o hen fri sy mor brydferth, wrth i fi – David ar drothwy ei ddyndod – daflu’r gyllell waedlyd i’r dŵr mud, dyna Lushfé a’i adenydd flamllyd ar led yn darllen 'yn meddyliau, ac mae’n dod yn gwbl ddirybudd mewn ateb i’r alwad fel seren wib yn torri ar draws yr awyr afluniaidd gan gario’i gelfydd eirias. A dyna Dad yn llafurio bwffian ar ei ffag ola’ erioed wrth i Hebé y gaseg esgyrnog, rithiol brancio’n wyllt ar wynt y dymestl. Ac fel arfer mae hi wedi bradychu dyn i ddwylo’r Saith gyda’i haddewidion sy’n cynnwys elfen o wirionedd, ac ar y llaw arall, ei hanner celwyddau.And then, on the river-bank, in front of the Blue House of old renown, which is so beautiful, while I – David on the threshold of his manhood – fling the bloody knife into the silent water, Lushfé with his flaming wings spread wide reads my mind, and he comes completely unannounced in answer to the call like a shooting star cutting across the troubled sky carrying his white-hot sword. Dad’s laboriously puffing on his last ever fag whilst Hebé the spectral, skeletal mare prances wildly on the tempest’s wind. And as usual she has betrayed a man into the hands of the Seven with her promises that contain an element of truth, and on the other hand, her half lies.
A dyna Dad yn taflu’i smôc i lawr, wedi’i flino’n llwyr. Am funud, eiliad, chwinciad, dw i’n llygadrythu arno fe, a chasineb oer ac mor finiog â rasel, yn fy nghalon, wrth i’r pwll o betrol ledu oddi dan y fan. A dyna fe’n diflannu’n wir, unwaith ac am byth – y dyn ‘na oedd yn glyfar, gorffwyll, a chreulon ar yr un pryd – â chlec daranllyd a fflach lachar sy'n tanio'r byd, gan ‘yn byddaru i ‘fyd. Dw i’n cael ‘yn hyrddio i’r afon ddu, lonydd, ac ar ei hwyneb ddarnau o’r fan, a thalpiau o gnawd dynol ar dân. Ac ar ôl hyn, ni fydda i byth yn gweld, na chlywed, ‘y Nhad cythreulig, gwaedlyd yn fyw eto. Mae wedi esgyn i ogoniant yn ôl ei gynllun. Dyna’r cyfan. Dim ond yn hwyrach sylweddolais i taw deliwr cyffuriau fuodd e drwy’r amser – a taw fi sy wedi ‘nghreithio’n enbyd yn y ffrwydrad.Dad’s throwing his smoke down, completely exhausted. For a minute, a second, the blink of an eye, I stare at him, with hatred, cold, and sharp as a razor, in my heart, while the pool of petrol spreads from under the van. And then he really disappears, once and for all, that man who was clever, wild, and cruel at the same time – with a thunderous click and a blinding flash that sets the world on fire, deafening me too. I’m hurled into the still, black river, and on its surface are bits of the van, and chunks of burning human flesh. After this, I’ll never see, or hear, my bloody, devilish Dad, alive again. He’s ascended to glory according to his plan. That’s it. Only later I realised that he’d been a drug-dealer all the time – and that I had got terribly scarred in the explosion.
Ac yn y dyfodol, yn rhywle arall yn llwyr, dyna aer drewllyd rhyw seler yn heidio o bryfed tanllyd, fyrdd. Maen nhw’n galw’r tarw aberthol, priodol i ddefod y sgarabau, mae’r Hen Filwr yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, sy’n credu taw gwir feistr cyfrinachau ydy, wedi’i chychwyn. Fe fydd y dyn hwn. Steffan Grossmann, sy’n drist, call, ac enfawr ar yr un pryd, i fod i ddarparu’r galon a’r grym bywiol i’r un a fu, ac a fydd drachefn, nes y bodola ef yn yr amser a ddaw fel y bodolai fe yn y gorffennol pell. Ac wedyn dyna’r cysgodion rheibus yn llyncu’r dyn, sy’n ŵr gwyryf, ac a oedd ar fedr ei ladd ei hun ar un adeg – gan ei gludo fe tuag at Ddydd y Farn mae wedi'i ddewis ar ei gyfer ei hun. Heb sŵn, heb symud, heb newid – mae’n cael ei ddileu o fodolaeth ar wyneb y Ddaear – ‘does ‘na ddim twll, na bwlch; dim ond diffyg sydd bellach, lle mai llawnder fu gynt.And in the future, somewhere else entirely, the stinking air of some cellar’s teeming with a myriad of fiery insects. They’re calling the appropriate sacrificial bull to the ceremony of the scarabs, that the Old Soldier, the Old Holy Warrior, who believes he’s the true master of secrets, has initiated. This man, Steffan Grossmann, who’s sad, wise, and enormous at the same time, is supposed to provide the heart and the life-force for the one who has been, and who will be again, so that he shall exist in the time to come as he existed in the far past. And then the voracious shadows devour the man, who’s a virgin, and who was about to kill himself at one stage, transporting him towards the Day of Judgement he has chosen for himself. Without sound, without movement, without change – he gets deleted from existence on the face of the Earth – there’s no hole, or gap; now there’s just a lack, where fullness was before.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 15

Pennod Pedwar ar Bymtheg: Dihuno (Lleisiau 15) / Awakening (Voices 15)

Man drothwyol lawn cysgodion yw’r groth, a’i thrigolion yn bodoli’n rywle rhwng tywyllwch a goleuni, esblygu a byw, synhwyro a gwybod, meddwl a gwneuthur. Yn hylif amniotig y bru y nofia’r embryo, gan ddisgwyl, a datblygu’n ddi-baid, tra llunnir ei ffurf, ei gorff, ei gyneddfau, trwy amryfal brosesau biolegol sydd dra chymhleth, o’r enw ontogenesis. Yn ddiamgyffred, cyfuna biliynau ar filiynau o atomau yr eiliad, mewn adweithiau cemegol wedi’u disgrifio gan egwyddorion ystadegol, a yrrir gan ddeddfau naturiol. Ac fel hyn yr adeiledir cyfansoddion, moleciwlau, a macromolecylau; proteinau, brasterau, a charbohydradau; hormonau, ensymau, ac asid niwclëig; pilennau, adeileddau cellog, organynnau, celloedd; ac wedyn gwythiennau, rhydwelïau a chapilarïau; gwaed a lymff; esgyrn, meinweoedd, organau, a systemau; croen, cnawd, cyhyr, ac ewin; calon, ysgyfaint, iau, arennau, ac ymennydd. Wrth reswm, bydd prosesau o’r fath, sef ffurfio, dyfu, datblygu, aeddfedu, marw, ailgylchu, ac amnewid, yn parhau drwy gydol ein bywydau. Ac felly y gofynnwn i’n hunain: rhwng y newid cyson oll, a adnabyddwn ni’n hunain byth yn wir, fel bodau parhaol, cyn y chwelir ein sylwedd fel tywod yr anialwch i bedwar ban yr hollfyd unwaith eto?

The womb is a liminal place full of shadows, whose inhabitants exits somewhere between darkness and light, evolving and living, sensing and knowing, thinking and doing. In the uterus’s amniotic fluid, the embryo swims, waiting, and develops ceaselessly, while its form, its body, its faculties are fashioned through multiple biological processes that are hugely complex, called ontogenesis. Unthinkingly, billions upon billions of atoms a second combine, in chemical reactions described by statistical principles, which are driven by natural laws. And thus are built compounds, molecules, and macromolecules; proteins, fats, and carbohydrates; hormones, enzymes, and nucleic acids; membranes, cellular structures, organelles, cells; and then veins, arteries, and capillaries; blood and lymph; bones, tissues, organs, and systems; skin, flesh, muscle, and nail; heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and brain. Of course, such processes, namely formation, growth, development, maturing, death, recycling, and replacement, continue throughout our lives. And so, we ask ourselves, what with all the constant change, can we ever know ourselves truly, as permanent beings, before our substance is scattered like the desert sand to the four corners of the universe once again?

[Yr Ananedig] Yn fy sach sicr rwy’n arnofio mor llonydd, gan huno’n dawel, wrth ddynwared symudiadau pobl yn y byd ffrochus tu allan. A nes i’m hamser gyrraedd, bydd yr ogo’ gigog hon yn fy nghysgodi a’m hamddiffyn rhag drygioni’r Ddaear. Ond dw i ddim yn cysgu bob amser, ac wedi dihuno am sbel, dyma fi’n ‘neud y cyfan mae’r drefn fawr yn gadael i fi’i ‘neud, gan ebychu: O Fyd anhysbys, carwch fi! O Fywyd, na clwyfwch fi! Ynteu fel arall, byddwch fy nadwneud i! Ond wedyn, mor boenus o ara’, rwy’n sylweddoli na fyddan nhw’n ‘neud hyn, na allan nhw, am mai byddar, a dall, a mud, ac anfedrus yw’r byd, a bywyd. Rhy lachar yw’r lledrith sydd yn fy rhwymo; rhy wan y llais fyddai’n datgan y gair a berai i fi doddi a diflannu. Arnyn nhw mae’r bai am fethu esbonio wrtha i daerineb chwant dynol, a chryfder y reddf oroesi. Ond o’m rhan innau hefyd, dw i’n teimlo’n euog ac analluog, gan taw fi sydd heb ddawn ymddatod; na galla i anweddu fel tarth yn Haul y bore. ‘Dwn i’m pam taw mor wan dw i; na sut i ddod o hyd i’r medr cymwys.[The Unborn] In my safe sack I hover so peacefully, sleeping soundly, imitating the movements of people in the wild world outside. And until my time arrives, this fleshy cave shall shelter me and protect me from the evil of the Earth. But I do not sleep all the time, and having awoken for a while, I do everything the order of the universe allows me to do, exclaiming: Oh, unknown World, love me! Oh Life, do not injure me! Or otherwise, undo me! But then, so painfully slowly, I realise that they will not do this, that they cannot, because deaf, and blind, and mute, and incompetent, are the world, and life. Too bright is the magic that binds me; too weak is the voice that would pronounce the word which could cause me to dissolve and disappear. Theirs is the blame for failing to explain to me the vehemence of human desire, and the strength of the instinct to survive. But on my part too, I feel guilty and impotent, since I lack the skill of undoing; nor can I evaporate like mist in the morning Sun. I know not why I am so weak; nor how to find the requisite ability.
[Tŷ Aileni] Oddi allan yr ymddengys fy mod yn sefyll yma yn hollol ddistaw, ond mae fy llais yn sibrwd yn y cysgodion y tu mewn, wrth i gytgan yr offeiriaid olaf atseinio’n iasol o bob arwyneb, sef: Deled ei deyrnas ef! Gwëir chwedlau di-rif am y Nw Yrth trwy fy nhramwyfeydd, fy rhagystafelloedd, fy storfeydd, a’m siambrau cudd. Mae’r muriau a’r nenfydau’n gyforiog o ddelwau cerfiedig ac wedi'u paentio, rhai sanctaidd a rhai cableddus yn ddiwahân. Ac yn rhannol oblegid hyn yr wyf yn llawn o ddewiniaeth ac egni ysbrydol.[The House of Rebirth] From the outside it appears that I stand here totally silent, but my voice whispers in the shadows inside, whilst the chorus of the last priests echoes chillingly from every surface, namely: May his kingdom come! Numberless tales of the Nw Yrth are woven through my passages, my antechambers, my stores, and my hidden rooms. The walls and ceilings are overflowing with carved and painted images, holy ones and profane ones alike. And partly because of this I am full of magic and spiritual energy.
[Yr Ananedig] Fel hyn, drwy’r amser, yn y gwyll tawedog rwy’n hofran, a’m llygaid glas yr awyr wedi’u cau mor dynn yn erbyn beth bynnag welwn i fel arall, ond er ‘ny, yn nhrefn amser fy mod i’n mynd yn fwy anfodlon ac aflonydd. O dro i dro mae tonnau o ryw sylwedd yn rhoi swaden i fi, ac mae’n teimlo ‘sai fe’n ysgubo trwo' i hefyd. O bryd i’w gilydd bydd fy nghorff i gyd yn crynu, ond ‘dwn i’m o gwbl beth sy’n digwydd, ond nage fi sy’n achosi’r fath gyffro. Mae pinnau bach ar fy nghroen i gyd, wrth i fi ystyried allwn i fodoli yn unman tu allan i’r fan fewnol ‘ma, sy’n dwym a diogel, ble rwy’n gallu bod mor ddiog, gan ildio i’m chwantau, a diwallu fy anghenion heb bryder. Sut fyddai hi, ‘sai fy nghyflenwad helaeth o fwyd ac ocsigen yn cael ei dorri? Beth fyddai’n digwydd ‘swn i’n cael fy alltudio o gysur cysgodol y bru? Fedrwn i wledda ar fwydydd cigaidd, gan hela, dilyn trywydd, lladd, traflyncu, treulio, ac ysgarthu, ‘sai’n rhaid i fi? Neu beth am ffermio, trin tir, ffrwythloni, hau, a medi? Mae fy nghnawd fel pridd y bedd o’m hamgylch, wedi’i fachu yn fy enaid ag anghenion, a phoenau – a phleserau. Ac felly, o ddychmygu’r olygfa ‘ma ar fodolaeth saproffytig, sy’n annifyr tu hwnt, beichio llefain dw i, wedi mynd i banic llwyr.[The Unborn] Like this, all the time, in the taciturn gloom I hover, my sky-blue eyes shut so tight against whatever I could otherwise see, but despite that, in time I become more disgruntled and uneasy. Now and then waves of some substance buffet me, and it feels like it’s sweeping through me too. From time to time my whole body shakes, but I don’t know at all what’s happening, but it’s not me causing this commotion. There are pins and needles all over my skin, as I consider whether I could exist anywhere outside this internal place, which is warm and safe, where I can be so lazy, giving in to my desires, and satisfying my needs without worry. What would it be like, if my plentiful supply of food and oxygen were to be cut off? What would happen if I were to be exiled from the shadowy comfort of the womb? Could I feast on meaty foods, hunting, tracking, killing, guzzling, digesting, and excreting, if needs be? Or what about farming, cultivating, fertilizing, sowing, and harvesting? My flesh is like grave-dirt about me; hooked into my soul by needs, and pains – and pleasures. And so, imagining this vista of saprophytic existence, which is extremely unpleasant, I sob, having gone into a complete panic.
[Tŷ Aileni] O waed, a chwys, a dagrau, ac ymdrech y caf fy ngeni; a dim ond trwy ryw fedr pensaernïol dirgel ac anhygoel y’m codir. Yr arwyddluniau cysegredig o’r enw hieroglyffau wedi’u hysgythru ar fy waliau a wna goffa am enw a champau’r sawl y byddai ei gorff dynol orwedd yma’n ddiogel am dragwyddoldeb. I ddechrau daeth Duwdod yn ddyn, ac ar ôl i’r Dewin gael ei hebrwng yma i dŷ ei hir gartref, wedyn fe ddaw’r dyn yn Dduwdod unwaith yn rhagor. Ac yna fe dychwel enaid effeithiol y Dewin i’r Nw Yrth, o ble y daeth yn wreiddiol.[The House of Rebirth] From blood, and sweat, and tears, and effort I am born, and only through some secret architectonic skill am I raised up. The sacred pictograms called hieroglyphs inscribed on my walls commemorate the name and the accomplishments of the one whose human body would lie here safely for eternity. To start with a Divinity became man, and after the Magus is escorted here to the house of his long rest, then the man becomes Divinity once more. And then the effective spirit of the Magus returns to the Nw Yrth whence he came originally.
[Yr Ananedig] Unwaith eto, rwy’n siglo yn y fantol, gan gael fy mhoeni gan weledigaethau sy’n fy nhynnu yma ac acw, i lan ac i lawr, i’r chwith ac i’r dde, yn ôl ac ymlaen ar yr un pryd, nes mod i’n amau na fydda i’n goroesi. Ond wedi dod at fy nghoed, dw i’n cofio taw disgynnydd llinell môr-leidr di-syfl dw i, sy’n syllu ar orwel herllyd ble mae rhyw arwyddocâd anhysbys yn aros i’w ddatgelu. Wel dyna syniad hyfryd, on’d ife? Ac wedyn dyna chwalu’r freuddwyd bitw. Mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai llen rewllyd yn disgyn o ‘nghwmpas, a fi’n crogi am hanner curiad calon – ‘chep’ heb ‘er’ – uwchben gwacter nas pontir byth, sy’n berwi o seirff mwya’ gwenwynllyd y Nw Yrth. A dyna fi’n cwympo, neu hedfan, neu’n cael fy nhaflu i – i ble? Beth yw’r lle ‘ma heb – heb ddim byd o gwbl ynddo fe? Ond eto i gyd, sut allwch chi ymdrin â siapiau dych chi’m wedi eu gweld, na chyffwrdd â nhw? Sut fydd yn bosib dychmygu arogleuon dych chi’m wedi profi eto? All pethau fodoli o gwbl yn y byd ‘ma o syniadau pur os na allwch chi’u disgrifio mewn geiriau? Ac wrth i fi ddal i syrthio, cychwyn crisialu’n gynamserol a wnaiff fy synnwyr hunaniaeth, fy nghymeriad gwyrthiol. Ac fe wn hyn o leia’: fydd dim byd yn fy nghalon ond casineb. Fydda i’m yn teimlo ond ofn a ffieidd-dra. Dim ond ceisio dial a wna i. Nage’r un eiliad fydd heb sŵn fy sgrech.[The Unborn] Once again, I dangle in the balance, pained by visions that pull me this way and that, up and down, left and right, back and forth at the same time, until I doubt I’ll survive. But having come to my senses, I remember that I am the descendant of a line of steadfast pirates, who is staring at a provocative horizon where some unknown significance awaits to be to revealed. Well that’s a lovely idea, isn’t it? And then the pitiful dream shatters. It feels like a freezing curtain descends around me, and I hang for half a heart-beat – ‘chep’ without ‘er’ – over an unbridgeable void, which is seething with the Nw Yrth’s most poisonous snakes. And then I’m falling, or flying, or being thrown – where? What’s this place without – without anything at all in it? But then again, how can you deal with shapes you’ve never seen, nor touched? How is it possible to imagine smells you’ve not experienced yet? Can things exist at all in this world of pure ideas if you can’t describe them in words? And as I continue to fall, my sense of identity, my miraculous personality, starts to crystallize prematurely. And I know this at least: there shall be nothing in my heart but hate. I shall feel nothing but fear and disgust. Only revenge shall I seek. Not one instant shall be without the sound of my scream.
[Tŷ Aileni] Ystyrier Lushfé y rheolwr mawr cyntaf, a roddodd ddiwylliant, cyfraith, a threfn inni, ac a ddaeth â chanibaliaeth i ben trwy ddarparu cigoedd eraill. Lladdwyd ef gan Swtach, a thynnwyd ei gorff yn ddarnau, a ddisgynnodd ef i’r lleoedd tanddaearol yn Nhir y Brwyn ger yr Afon Chwim. Ond, wrth i’r Haul fynd ar ei daith feunyddiol a esyd derfynau’r dydd a’r nos, gan greu bywyd trwy ganu’i gân o greu, roedd Tefnuth yn gwrando’n astud, a thrwy ei hystryw, fe lwyddodd hi i ddadansoddi ystyr cêl y geiriau. A dygodd hi enw tra chyfrinachol yr Haul gan ennill awdurdod i orchymyn y byw a’r meirwon. Ac er gwaethaf ei friwiau enbyd, daeth Lushfé yn ôl yn fyw trwy gastiau hudol ei chwaer Tefnuth, a oedd yn wraig iddo hefyd. Yn yr un modd, y Dewin a dderbyn yn etifeddiaeth fywyd Lushfé. Dim ond gorfod cofio enwau’r bodau byw oll a fu yn y cychwyn cyntaf a wna ef, ond nid y geiriau cysefin, ond yn hytrach, y ffurfiau yr esblygant i’w cymryd yn y dyfodol pell. Oblegid mai yn y wir Ddewin, megis yn yr had dynol, gwyrthol yn tyfu yn y groth, y mae pŵer dilyffethair pob creadur o dan yr Haul.[The House of Rebirth] Consider Lushfé the first great ruler, who gave culture, law, and order to us, and who brought cannibalism to an end by providing other meats. He was killed by Swtach, and his body dismembered, and he descended to the underground places in the Land of the Rushes by the Swift River. But, as the Sun went on his daily journey which sets the bounds on the day and the night, creating life by singing his song of creation, Tefnuth was listening keenly, and through her wiles, she succeeded in analysing the hidden meaning of the words. And she stole the most secret name of the Sun, gaining the authority to command the living and the dead. And despite his terrible wounds, Lushfé came back to life through the magical tricks of his sister Tefnuth, who was his wife also. In the same way, it is the Magus who shall receive as an inheritance the life of Lushfé. He shall only have to remember the names of all the living things which there were in the first-times, not the original words, but rather the forms which they shall evolve to take in the far future. For in the true Magus, as in the miraculous human seed growing in the womb, is the untrammelled power of every creature under the Sun.
[Yr Ananedig] Ac yn sydyn, O, dw i’n dirnad yr holl beth, taw craidd amser yw newid, a byddwn ni’n sylwi ar newid pan fydd gwrthrychau’n symud, a hefyd drwy gryfhau a gwanhau’u hansoddau, neu gynyddu a lleihau’u maint. Ond fe fydd yn edrych fel ‘sai’r endid o’r enw amser yn achosi newid ar ben hynny, er dyw e ddim yn bodoli ynddo ei hun. Ac mae’n wir taw prif arwydd newid yw bywyd, sy’n codi, dilyn ei gwrs, llanw a threio, cynyddu a chilio. Ond gyda help yr hud cryfa’, fe allwch chi atal treigl amser, rhodio’r gofod rhwng yr eiliadau, a chyflawni pob chwant. Fe fydd yn rhaid i chi ond consurio’r teimladau a’r delweddau priodol mor ddwys ag y bo modd, ac wedyn llefaru’r geiriau‘n disgrifio’n fanwl gywir pob datblygiad a newid, wrth ‘neud yr ystumiau gofynnol. A dyma fydd yn rhwymo’r naill a rhyddhau’r llall, gan roddi bod a dileu, hydoddi a thewychu, yn unol â’r ewyllys.[The Unborn] And suddenly, Oh, I comprehend the whole thing, that change is the crux of time, and we recognise change when objects move, and also through the strengthening and weakening of their qualities, or the increase and decrease of their size. But it’ll look as if an entity called time causes change as well, although it doesn’t exist in its own right. And it’s true that the chief sign of change is life, which arises, follows its course, ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes. But with the help of the strongest magic you can stop the flow of time, walk the void between the instants, and fulfil every desire. You have only to conjure the appropriate feelings and images as intensely as possible, and then speak the words describing with absolute exactness every development and change, whilst making the called-for motions. And this will bind the one thing and free the other, creating and destroying, dissolving and coagulating, in accordance with the will.
[Tŷ Aileni] Sicrha’r arwyddion hyn wedi’u mewnsgrifio ym mhobman ar y waliau, y memrynau, ac ar bob gwrthrych, y bydd ef yn byw a bwyta ymhlith y sêr bythol yn y byd a ddaw, pan bwysir ei galon lân yn erbyn pluen gwirionedd. Fe fydd y galon yn ysgafnach na’r bluen oherwydd yr hud, ac wedyn fe fernir bod yr erfyniwr yn deilwng o fywyd tragwyddol. Cyhoedda fy muriau’r gwirionedd anghyfnewidiol, canlynol. Y Dewin fydd y tarw aberthol, yn ogystal â’r offeiriad llywyddol, ac ar ben hynny’r gyllell benodol. Yn y pendraw yn y wlad honno tros Afon Dagrau, fe gasgla’r ailanedig bwerau’r Swynwyr i gyd, a fydd yn ddistadl o’u cymharu â’i rym glân. Felly efe a'u rhwyga nhw’n gareiau; fe wasga ef eu grym bywydol â dwrn o haearn; fe ferwa ef eu gweddillion mewn crochan enfawr; fe wledda ef ar eu perfeddion; fe wna ef ddileu eu hesgyrn yn llwyr gan gnoi; fe rydd ef eu lludw ar ei dân. Ac yna fe lynca ef eu hud yn gyflawn, wrth osgoi eu bustl gwenwynllyd. Ac wedi iddo gymryd meddiant o’u grymoedd goruwchnaturiol fe all ef deyrnasu tros y Ddau Fyd, gan mai ef a’r holl gread fydd yr un fath â’i gilydd erbyn hynny.[The House of Rebirth] These signs, inscribed everywhere on the walls, the parchments, and on every surface, will secure that he shall live and eat amongst the eternal stars in the world to come, when his pure heart is weighed against the feather of truth. The heart shall be lighter than the feather because of the magic, and then it shall be judged that the supplicant is worthy of eternal life. My walls proclaim the following changeless truth. The Magus shall be the sacrificial bull, as well as the officiating priest, and, moreover, the appointed knife. In the end in that land across the River of Tears, the reborn shall collect the powers of all the Sorcerers, who shall be insignificant in comparison with his holy might. Thus it is he who shall tear them to pieces, he shall squeeze out their life-force with an iron fist; he shall boil their left-overs in an enormous cauldron; he shall feast on their entrails; he shall completely gnaw away their bones; he shall put their ashes on his fire. And then he shall fully devour their magic, whilst avoiding their poisonous bile. And after he takes possession of their supernatural powers, he shall be able to reign over the Two Worlds, for he and all creation shall be one with each other by then.
[Yr Ananedig] Yn wir y digwyddiad gorau erioed oedd pan sylweddolais hyn, gan effro o ‘nghwsg gorfodol i brofi’r datguddiad. Dyna oedd pan ddaeth bywyd i ben – ‘y mywyd cynta’ yn gaeth i’r groth o leia’ – pan glywais i’r chwilod tom o amgylch Tŷ Aileni’n siantio’u cân dragwyddol drosodd a throsodd –‘khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.’ A dyna gân sy’n asio marwolaeth a dadeni wrth ei gilydd, wrth ddiddymu’r ddau. A thro ar ôl tro, drachefn a thrachefn byddan nhw’n canu’r un peth – wrth gyfeilio i guriad ‘y nghalon ddu – “chep-er – chep-er – chep-er.”[The Unborn] Indeed it was the best thing ever to happen when I realised this, waking from my enforced sleep to experience the revelation. That was when life came to an end – my first womb-bound life at least – when I heard the dung-beetles around the House of Rebirth chanting their eternal song over and over – khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi. And that’s the song that binds death and rebirth together, whilst abolishing both. And time after time, ever and anon, they sing the same thing – whilst accompanying the beating of my black heart – “chep-er – chep-er – chep-er.”
[Tŷ Aileni] Oblegid mai’r Dewin fydd unig feistr y greadigaeth oll, ef fydd yn trechu annibendod, a thawelu’r môr cychwynnol, corddol. Myfi, Tŷ Aileni, fydd yn gweld, a synhwyro, a chlywed, ac arogleuo, a blasu. Gwybod, a deall, a meddwl, a gweiddi a wnaf. O’r herwydd yr wyf yn mynegu hyn. Fe reola’r Dewin y lleoedd y tu hwnt i amser. Cyn loywed â’r Haul ei hun fydd ef, ond hollol gudd rhag llygaid pawb. Â’i rym o’i flaen, fel neidr eirias, megis llygad o dân sydd yn gweld popeth. Oherwydd hyn y gwna ef ba beth bynnag a ddymuna, ar y gair, i’r dim, a heb rwystr; yn yr un modd, yr hyn na ddymuna, na all dim awdurdod nac ar y Ddaear nac ar y Nw Yrth orfodi ef i’w wneud. Fe fydd ond arno angen llefaru’r union eiriau, ond os na wna hyn, fe fetha ef yn deg, a fydd y canlyniadau'n enbyd.[The House of Rebirth] For the Magus shall be the sole master of all creation, he shall overcome confusion, and silence the churning originary ocean. It is I, the House of Rebirth, who shall see, and sense, and hear, and smell, and taste. I shall know, and understand, and think, and shout. Therefore, I express this. The Magus shall rule the places beyond time. As bright as the Sun himself shall he be, but totally hidden from the eyes of all. His power shall go before him, like a white-hot serpent, like an eye of fire which sees everything. Because of this he shall do whatever he desires, instantaneously, perfectly, and without impediment; in the same way, what he does not wish, no authority, either on the Earth or on the Nw Yrth, can compel him to do. He need only pronounce the precise words; but if he does not do this, he shall fail, and fail utterly, and the consequences shall be dire.
[Yr Ananedig] Yn ‘y hylif brith, dw i’n gwegian yn simsan, wrth blygu ‘nghorff sy wedi’i rolio’n ffurf ymlusgiad neu amffibiad bellach ond sy’n parhaus drawsffurfio; a chysgwr effro sy’n breuddwydio am fyd echryslon dw i, yr un sy eisoes yn ddialgar. Cwch gwenyn yw’n meddwl, yn heigio â gwenyn, ac ma’ pob un ohonyn nhw’n ‘y mhigo â chwestiwn wrth beillio’n ofnau, a lluosogi’n arteithiau, ond dyw’r atebion melysber byth yn dod. Ac felly, dyma fi, wedi’n mantellu â chyfnos diderfyn, ac yno i, ma’ trachwant anhraethol y Rheibiwr yn ymgodi ac ymdawelu. Dyma gynnwys y sach ddisylwedd yn griddfan, wrth i fi estyn tentaclau eneidiol, gludiog, i flasu’r byd tu mas.[The Unborn] In my speckled fluid, I totter shakily, whilst bending my body which has been rolled up into the form of a reptile or amphibian now, but which is transforming constantly; and I am a waking sleeper dreaming of an atrocious world, the one who’s vengeful already. My mind’s a hive, teeming with bees, and every one of them stings me with a question whilst pollinating my fears, and multiplying my tortures, but the honeyed answers never come. And so, here’s me, cloaked in endless twilight, and in me the unutterable greed of the Wizard rears up and abates. The contents of the insubstantial sack groans, as I extend sticky, psychic tentacles, to taste the world outside.
[Tŷ Aileni] Felly y cyhoeddaf, o ardaloedd sych, gwyllt yr anialwch, a gwastatiroedd ffrwythlon Bilabel ger yr Afon Wylofus, i’r eangderau anferth o dwndra ar ben pegynau’r Nw Yrth. Cân fy saernïaeth, fy nghnawd anorganig, fy esgyrn gwneud, ogoniant y Dewin. Oherwydd mai ef a fydd yn teyrnasu tros y Swynwyr i gyd, fel arglwydd y gwagle y tu hwnt i amser. Ac ef yw’r un a fu cyn i bopeth ddod i fodolaeth; sydd yn byw bellach; ac a fydd yn awdurdod tros y Ddau Fyd, nes i’r mynyddoedd dreulio’n ronynnau tywod, a’r rheiny yn llwch mân. Ac ar ôl hyn fe chwythir y mymrynnau ymaith i bedwar ban y cyfanfyd. Ac ymehanga’r Haul gwan gan gwblhau cylchred ei fywyd, a llosgi’n waedrudd, wrth iddo ysu’r Ddaear yn ulw. Ac wedyn y berwa’r cawl cychwynnol yn sych, gan adael y Blaned yn ddim ond gwylltir anial o halen.[The Hose of Rebirth] Thus I proclaim, from the wild, dry areas of the desert, and the fruitful plains of Biblael near the Weeping River, to the enormous expanses of tundra at the poles of the Nw Yrth. My workmanship, my inorganic flesh, my manufactured bones, sing the glory of the Magus. For it is he who shall reign over all the Sorcerers, as lord of the void beyond time. And he is the one who was before everything came into existence; who lives now; and who shall be authority over the Two Worlds, until the mountains crumble away to grains of sand, and those to fine dust. And after this the particles shall be blown away to the four corners of the universe. And the feeble Sun shall expand, completing its life-cycle, burning blood-red whilst it scorches the Earth to a crisp. And then the primal ocean shall boil dry, leaving the Planet as naught but a barren wilderness of salt.
[Yr Ananedig] A dyma fi, darpar Ddewin anhysbys, heb ei eni eto, sy’m yn cael ei weld, yn holi’r byd dagreuol tu mas i’r bru. Oddi mewn i ‘nghocŵn cloëdig, fe fydda i’n anffurfio ac ail-wneud pob talp o fater fydd fy meddyliau’n taro arno fe, os bydd angen, neu os bydda i eisiau, nes iddo fe gydffurfio â siâp ‘yn enaid sy'n mwtanu bob tro. Wedi’n syrffedu, am ennyd o leia’, ar dameidiau blasus, tyner o gasineb ac ofn, o genfigen, a dicter, a gwanc – pob un ohonyn nhw sy’n ‘yn halogi’n fwy, wrth ‘neud i fi bwffian chwerthin ar yr un pryd – dyma fi’n llyfu ‘neintgig heb ddant ynddo eto, a sugno 'mawd fel pib. Ac yna, wedi’n lapio mewn môr llawn cysgodion, dyma fi’n pendant deithio yn ‘mlaen.[The Unborn] And here I am, an unknown Wizard to-be, not yet born and unseen, interrogating the tearful world outside the womb. From within my sealed cocoon, I’ll disfigure and re-make every chunk of matter my thoughts hit against, if needs be, or if I want to, until it conforms with the shape of my constantly mutating soul. Surfeited, for a moment at least, on tender, tasty morsels of hatred and fear, of jealousy, and anger, and greed – every one of which defiles me more, while making me giggle at the same time – here I am licking my as-yet toothless gums, and sucking my pipe-like thumb. And then, wrapped in a sea of shadows, I travel resolutely on.
[Tŷ Aileni] Ac yn fuan fe ddarperir yr elfennau priodol i gyd yn ôl yr angen. Yr elfen gyntaf yw’r cnawd, ac fe gaf fi hwn trwy ddichell gan y ferch fydd yn organedd letyol i gorff newydd y Dewin maes o law. Yr ail elfen, a’r drydedd a ddaw o’r cariad coll, o’r enw ‘Y Pobydd,’ wedi’i ddal mewn hunllef anorffen, a fydd yn ildio’r hud a’r bersonoliaeth unigol. Efe fydd yn rhoi’i gysgod imi pan ddaw ei freuddwyd i ben, amser enedigaeth y Dewin. Bydd gweddill yr elfennau’n dod o’r gŵr diwair sydd yn drist, call, ac enfawr ar yr un pryd, o’r enw ‘Y Tew Ŵr.’ Yn y dyfodol y cyll ef ei galon a’i rym bywiol hefyd. A thrwy hyn oll fe all y Dewin ddal i fyw ar yn y Nw Yrth dan olau cryf yr Haul gwir am byth, gan ganu cân adnewyddu cyson – kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi – hyd at ei therfyn. Fel hyn yn fy ffurf yr ydys yn ysgrifennu – yn y modd hwn trwy fy nhystiolaeth y bydd![The House of Rebirth] And soon all the appropriate elements shall be provided as necessary. The first element is the flesh, and I shall have this through trickery from the girl who shall be host to the Magus’s new body in due course. The second element, and the third, shall come from the lost lover, named ‘The Baker,’ caught in an endless nightmare, who shall yield the magic and the individual personality. He shall give his shadow to me when his dream comes to an end at the time of the Magus’s birth. The rest of the elements shall come from the chaste man who is sad, wise, and huge at the same time, called ‘The Fat Man.’ In the future he shall lose his heart, and his life-force also. And through all this the Magus can continue to live on the Nw Yrth under the strong light of the true Sun for ever, singing the song of constant rejuvenation -- kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi – to its conclusion. Thus in my form it is written – in this way, thorough my witness, shall it be!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 16

Pennod Ugain: Dianc (Lleisiau 16) / Escaping (Voices 16)

Mae cysgodion yn byw mewn lleoliad rhyfedd rhwng golau dydd a gwyll, rhwng y symbolau rhesymegol a’r delweddau twyllodrus sydd yn bodoli yn llygad yr haul a’r arswyd llwyr sydd yn dod yn real liw nos. A ydy’n bosibl dangos cyffelybiaeth rhwng y fath ffenomen a chysyniad treigl amser, felly? Beth am y presennol, er enghraifft, yr amser nad yw’n bod, o un persbectif, sydd wastad ar y ffin rhwng y gorffennol a’r dyfodol? Neu ynteu, ar y llaw arall, efallai mai gwell fyddai dweud mai’r presennol yw’r unig amser sydd yn bodoli, o’r safbwynt hwn. Beth bynnag fo’r ateb, os bydd ateb o gwbl, gallwn ni fynd yn ein blaen i holi: A achosir y ffenomen yr ydym yn arddel mai’r presennol ydy gan grychdonnau’r dyfodol yn llifo tuag at y gorffennol, neu gan gysgodion pethau sydd wedi mynd a deflir ar ddigwyddiadau sydd i ddod?

Shadows live in strange locations between daylight and dusk, between the logical symbols and the deceptive images which exist in direct sunlight and the complete horror that becomes real at night-time. Is it possible to show a correspondence between such a phenomenon and the concept of the flow of time, therefore? What about the present, for example, the time which does not exist, from one perspective, which is always on the boundary between the past and the future? Or, on the other hand, perhaps it would be better to say the present is the only time that exists, from this viewpoint. Whatever the answer may be, if there is any answer at all, we can go on to enquire: Is the phenomenon we hold to be the present caused by ripples of the future flowing towards the past, or by shadows of things which have been that are thrown on events which are to come?

[Steffan] O fechgyn, fy mechgyn annwyl i – Staffy ifanc, Stevo yn hwyrach – dyma fi, Steffan o’r dyfodol. Myfi fydd chi ill dau pan fyddwch chi’n hŷn, dychmygwch hynny! Fe dybiaf fi ei bod yn eithaf annheg mai fi, yr ymgnawdoliad cyfredol eich personoliaeth, sydd yn cael y gair olaf, ond mae’n anochel, dyna drefn y bydysawd, gan mai fy meddwl sy’n deffro atgofion am ein hanes cyfrannol ni, yn consurio cysgodion y nos oddi mewn i’r gwyll. Fodd bynnag, chi, y lleisiau afreal sy’n ffurfio côr y calonnau unig yn fy mhen, yw fy meddwl a’m meddyliau, yr hen ddiawliaid chi! Ac rydych chi’n bwysig iawn, heb os. Wel, chi ill dau, a’r gweddill ohonoch chi, y rhannau eraill, sydd yn amrywiadau di-dor ar yr un hen thema, sef cymeriad y dyn hwn rhwng yr amser y cafodd ei eni ac yr adeg bresennol hon.[Steffan] O boys, my dear boys – Young Staffy, Stevo later on – here I am, Steffan from the future. I shall be you two when you’re older, imagine that! I suppose it is rather unfair that it is I, the present incarnation of your personality who has the last word, but it’s inevitable, that’s the order of the universe, as it is my mind that is awakening memories about our shared history, conjuring shadows of the night from within the dark. However, you, the unreal voices that form the lonely-hearts choir in my head, are my mind and my thoughts, you old devils! And you are very important, without a doubt. Well, you two, and the rest of you, the other parts, which are endless variations on the same old theme, namely the character of this man between the time he was born and this present moment.
[David] Pa fath o beth yn union yw dianc, tybed, David Baxter, yn enwedig pan dych chi wastad yn bracsan drwy gysgodion mor drwchus â llaid ffosydd y Cythrwfl Mawr, yn y Dyffryn Baca hwn, fydd ddim yn diflannu hyd yn oed yn y dydd, heb sôn am y nos? Eistedd – cerdded – rhedeg – ehedeg. Dw i’n cyrcydu’n ddistaw, a’r creithiau fel llythrennau rwnig, coch dros ‘y nghorff i gyd yn brifo’n ofnadw’, gan ystyried y dyfodol, a thrio ‘narbwyllo’n hunan taw goroeswr wrth natur dw i, yn bendant. Wel wedi’r cwbl, dim ond fi sy ‘ma o hyd. Huno’n ysbeidiol mae Mam yn rhywle ar yr ochr arall, ‘yn angyles warcheidiol, er gwaetha’ sut ‘nes i drin y gyllell hudol, a dw i’n chlywed hi’n sgrechian bob amser o hyd. Gan ddefnyddio pŵer geiriau ‘nes i ofalu i’n Wncwl anfad o gamdriniwr fynd i’w dranc, pan dorrodd gwythïen waed yn ei ymennydd ar ben y staer y noson ‘na. Dw i ‘di ‘neud ‘y ngorau glas i gadw’r chwaer, ond heb lwyddo achos bod hi ‘di rhedeg bant i fod yn farddes enwog neu rywbeth a ‘sneb ‘ma i ‘ngharco fi rhagor. Ac ar ben popeth, mae ‘Nhad newydd estyn y fer, ffoi rhag y farn a ddaw, cicio’r bwced, mynd i gyfarfod â’i grewyr (mewn ffordd o siarad), dianc o arswyd y byd. Dyna Steffan, sbo, ond dyw e’m yn cyfri’ fel teulu, ydy e?[David] What kind of thing exactly is escaping, I wonder, David Baxter, especially when you’re always wading through shadows as thick as the mud in the trenches of the Great Turbulence, in this Vale of Tears, which don’t disappear even in the day, not to mention the night? Sitting – walking – running – flying. I’m crouching silently, the scars like red runic letters all over my body hurting awfully, considering the future, and trying to convince myself that I am a natural survivor, definitely. Well, after all, there’s only me who’s still here. Mam, my guardian angel, is sleeping fitfully on the other side somewhere, despite how I wielded the magic knife, and I hear her screaming all the time still. Using the power of words, I ensured that my iniquitous Uncle, the abuser, went to his demise, when he burst a blood-vessel in his brain at the top of the stairs that night. I’ve done my best to keep my sister, but no success as she’s run off to be a famous poet or something and there’s no-one here to look after me any more. And to top it all off, my Dad has just popped his clogs, fled from his final judgement, kicked the bucket, gone to meet his makers (in a manner of speaking), escaped from the horrors of the world. There’s Steffan, I suppose, but he doesn’t count as family, does he?
[Steffan] Dyma fi, felly, dyn mewn oed, ac rwy’n ystyried y cyfryw ystrydebau rhadlon a chysurlon y gallwn i’u clebran wrthoch, y bechgyn ieuengach, wrth edrych yn ôl trwy’r sbectol ruddwawr honno sydd yn ymddangos ar drwyn dyn gyda threigl amser. Ond wrth gwrs, rwy’n gwrthod ei gwisgo hi o achos fy malchder, ac am mai gŵr geirwir ydw i. O, gwagedd yw’r cwbl, medd y pregethwr, ond coeliwch chi fi, nid pregethwr mohonof fi erbyn hyn, gymrodyr, myn yr Hen Dduwiau Gwallgof! Ond wedi dweud hynny, adfyd a ddaw â dysg yn ei law, felly fe af fi yn fy mlaen.[Steffan] Here I am, then, a grown-up man, and I’m considering the kind of gracious and reassuring clichés I could prattle to you, the younger boys, whilst looking back through those rose-tinted spectacles which appear on a man’s nose in the fullness of time. But of course, I refuse to wear them due to my pride, and because I am a truthful man. Oh, everything is vanity, says the preacher, but believe you me, I’m no preacher now, comrades, by the Old Mad Gods! But having said that, adversity brings learning in its hand, so, I shall proceed.
[David] Fe ddylai fe fod wedi bod yn rhyddhad hyfryd, ond beth sy ‘di digwydd yn lle ‘ny? ‘Dwn i’m, er taw dim ond euogrwydd a gwarth sy ar ôl i fi. Yna, mae’n meddyliau i’n hedfan bant fel dail yn cael eu chwythu gan dymestl yn nhrymder y nos. Euog a wêl ei gysgod rhyngddo â’r Haul, ac a fydd yn gorfod ffoi am ei hoedl rhagddo. Ond, dw i’m yn deall pam dw i’m yn ddibechod, na gwybod rhag pa fraw dw i’n trio dianc. Yn sydyn, dw i’n ‘y nghael fy hunan yn sefyll yn stond, ar bwys glannau dyfroedd tawel y dychymyg, ac wedyn – taith, gobaith, hiraeth, iaith – mae’r geiriau ‘ma yn tynnu arna i o bell, fel ‘sai tiroedd newydd yn ‘y ngwahodd; a churiadau rhai drymiau estron dyn nhw, fydd yn ‘y ngalw i ‘mlaen fel galla i gwrdd â ‘nhynged.[David] It should’ve been a blessed release, but what’s happened instead? I dunno, although only guilt and shame are left to me. Here, my thoughts are flying off like leaves being blown by a tempest in the depths of the night. It’s a guilty man who sees his shadow between himself and the Sun, and who must flee for his life from it. But, I don’t understand why I’m not sinless, nor know from what fear I’m trying to escape. Suddenly, I find myself standing stock-still, beside the shores of the quiet waters of the imagination, and then – journey, hope, longing, language – these words tug on me from afar, as if new lands are inviting me; and they’re the beats of some strange drums, which’ll call me on so that I can meet my fate.
[Steffan] Ni ddylwn i fod mor llym, gan mai dim ond adwaith amddiffynnol yw’r ymddygiad hwn, a chi ill dau fydd yn deall heb yr un broblem o gwbl o ble rydyn ni’n cael y fath odrwydd a gwendidau. Mae’n ddrwg gennyf fy mod yn dal i siarad mewn damhegion ond cydwybod euog a ofna ei gysgod, gan hel esgusion drwy’r amser a cheisio ffoi rhag y gwirionedd poenus. Felly, gadewch imi ateb y cwestiynau sy’n dawnsio fel gwybed o flaen eich meddyliau cythryblus o hyd. Efallai y gallaf fi ladd rhai cysgodion dychmygol. [Steffan] I shouldn’t be so harsh, since this behaviour is only a defence mechanism, and you two will understand without a problem at all from where we get such oddness and foibles. I am sorry that I am still talking in riddles but it’s a guilty conscience that fears its shadow, proffering excuses all the time and trying to escape the painful truth. So, let me answer the questions that still are dancing like midges before your troubled minds. Perhaps I shall be able to slay some imaginary shadows.
[David] Ta be’, peth rhyfedd yw dianc yn wir, dw i’n credu. Mae teithiau ac felly diangfeydd ym mhobman, ac fe fyddan nhw’n sleifio aton ni bob tro, yn enwedig pan fyddwn ni’m yn eu disgwyl nhw o gwbl, pan wyddom ni awn ni’m i unman. Mewn gwirionedd, fe all byw ei hunan deimlo’n debyg i ddihangfa beryglus, o ble, neu i ble, na wn i, ‘sdim clem ‘da fi, a dim syndod ‘na ‘te, ha ha! Ond er gwell neu er gwaeth fe fydd bywyd yn datgelu’i gyfrinachau fel trysorau anhysbys wedi’u gwasgaru mewn tomenni tail ar ymyl llwybr fydd yn arwain o enedigaeth i farwolaeth. O bryd i’w gilydd byddwn ni’n dawnsio ar hyd y ffordd o frics melyn, yn rhywle draw dros yr enfys, ble fe ddown ni o hyd i iechyd, cyfoeth, a dedwyddwch. Ond ambell waith, fe fyddwn ni’n ymlusgo ar ein pedwar, ar hyd y ffordd i byllau dyfna' anobaith y Nw Yrth, wedi’i phalmantu â bwriadau da. Weithiau’r naill, weithiau’r llall: pwy a ŵyr cyn i ni orffen y daith, cyn i ni ddianc unwaith ac am byth? Y cyfan allwn ni ‘neud yw cerdded, neu neidio, neu redeg, dan lefain neu chwerthin ar yr un pryd.[David] Anyhow, escape is a strange thing indeed, I think. There are journeys, and therefore escapes, everywhere, and they creep up on us all the time, especially when we don’t expect them at all, when we think we’re not going anywhere. In truth, living itself can feel similar to a dangerous escape, from where, or to where, I have no clue, and that’s no surprise then, ha ha! But, for better or for worse, life reveals its secrets like unknown treasures scattered in dung-heaps besides the path that leads from the cradle to the grave. From time to time we’ll dance down the yellow-brick road, somewhere over the rainbow, where we’ll find health, wealth, and happiness. But sometimes, we’ll crawl on all fours, along the road to the Nw Yrth’s deepest pools of despair, paved with good intentions. Sometimes the one, sometimes the other, who knows before we finish the journey, before we escape once and for all? All we can do is walk, or jump, or run, weeping or laughing at the same time.
[Steffan] O, fechgyn, bydd gennych y fath freuddwydion ynghylch y dyfodol. Ac yn wir, fe ewch i’r Brifdechneg er mwyn dilyn y llwybr tuag at ogoniant glân, a phurdeb tragwyddol, gan geisio llwyddo fel rhifolwr a all reoli ffawd y werin annisgybledig a bustachaidd. Am syniad nobl! Ond, gwael dweud, bydd pawb eraill yn ymddangos mor ymhongar, mor falch, mor uchelgeisiol i ddringo’r polyn llithrog, i ddod yn feddyliaethydd byd-eang, ynteu Gynrychiolydd y Werin. Felly, ar y wyneb o leiaf, fe ddewch chi’n hen daid ifanc, fydd yn tynnu’n groes i’r lleill ar egwyddor, gan geisio’ch fflangellu’ch hun drwy’r amser. Nid ymsefydlwch ymhlith y byddigions. Ni fyddwch byth yn teimlo’n llonydd yno, am mai’r unig lanc heb gariad fyddwch. Ac a bod yn onest, byddwch yn ddigwmni’n aml iawn, pan fydd y gweddill yn cael hwyl o bob math, ni fydd rhaid imi ymhelaethu, obeithiwn, ar yr ystyr bellach. Ac ar ben hynny ni fydd dim ffrindiau gorau, ac ymhlith yr holl rwystredigaeth, fe syrthiwch dros eich pen a’ch clustiau mewn cariad â bywyd y tai gamblo, y clybiau cabare anghyfreithlon, y siopau sbeis sydd ar agor ddydd a nos, ac ogofeydd lladron fyrdd eraill. Ac O, afraid dweud, fe ddysgwch beth neu ddau yno![Steffan] Oh, boys, you shall have such dreams concerning the future. And truly, you shall go to the Unitechnic to follow the path towards holy glory, and eternal purity, trying to succeed as a numerologist who can control the fate of the undisciplined and bestial folk. What a noble idea! But, terrible to relate, everyone else will appear so pretentious, so proud, so ambitious to climb the slippery pole, to become a world-famous mentalist, or a People’s Representative. So, on the surface at least, you’ll become an old young fogey, who’ll contradict the rest on principle, trying to flagellate yourself all the time. You’ll not settle down amongst the posh nobs. You’ll never feel at peace there, as you’ll be the only lad without a companion. And to be honest, very often you’ll be lacking company, when the rest are having fun of all sorts, I’ll not have to elaborate, I hope, on the meaning further. And on top of that, there’ll be no best friends, and what with all the frustration, you’ll fall head-over-heels in love with the life of the gambling houses, the illegal cabaret clubs, the twenty-four-hour spice-shops, and myriad other dens of iniquity. And Oh, needless to say, you shall learn a thing or two there!
[David] Wrth gwrs, mae diangfeydd i gyd yn dechrau gydag un cam, maen nhw’n dweud. Dw i wastad yn meddwl am y gofodwyr sy’n dychmygu mynd mas i dywyllwch enfawr pellafoedd y gwagle mewn llongau gofod. Falle, ‘sen nhw’n llwyddo, fe fyddai ‘ny’n un cam bach i ddyn, ond un llam mawr i ddynolryw hefyd. Ond lwyddan nhw byth. Eto i gyd, ‘sdim rhaid i ni fynd mor bell, on’d oes, achos bod ni’n gallu goresgyn ein hofnau drwy deithio i leoedd mewnol, i fannau ble na all neb ein clywed ni’n sgrechain. Reit te, dyma ni’n dechrau siarad am ddefnyddio’r llais, am chwedleua, am ddweud celwyddau. Beth arall allwn ni weud am iaith, te?[David] Of course, all escapes begin with a single step, they say. I’m always thinking about the space-men who imagine going off into the enormous darkness of the depths of space on space-ships. Perhaps, it they succeeded, that would be one small step for a man, but one big leap for mankind too. But they’ll never do it! There again, there’s no need for us to go so far, is there, because we can overcome our fears by travelling to internal spaces, to places where no-one can hear us scream. Right then, we’re starting to talk about using the voice, about tale-telling, about spouting lies. What else can we say about language, then?
[Steffan] Nawr, gadewch imi fwrw fy mola berfedd. Ni ddylai dyn byth ddweud mai camgymeriad yw’r un profiad, ond ‘neno Hebé, pe dymunwn i edifarhau rhywbeth erioed, fe fyddai’r hyn y byddaf yn mynd i sôn amdano nesaf. Gall pechod mawr ddyfod trwy ddrws bychan, meddant. Grrrrr! Fe fedrwch chwyrnu fel arth fawr, flewog erbyn hyn, ac efallai mai dyna sut y byddwch yn ymddangos. Ond er hynny, bydd yn anodd iawn ichi ymddwyn yn synhwyrol a chall yn yr Uffern newydd, yn ffau’r llewod, y clwb nos, y tŷ cysgu, y gwely aflan, y siambr sbeis, a’r cant a mil o fannau eraill sy’n perthyn i’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd yma ar y Ddaear. Nid yn unig y plymiwch eich llwy yn y crochanau hynny o lygredigaeth; ond fe fyddwch yn mwynhau’ch bwrw’ch hun lwrw’ch pen i garthbyllau’n waeth nag eiddo’r Nw Yrth, hefyd. Myn cebyst', a fydd y cynlluniau oll, wedi’u trefnu mor gynnil, yn mynd i’r gwellt?[Steffan] Now, let me spill the beans. One should never say that any single experience is a mistake, but, by Hebé, if I ever wanted to regret anything, it would be what I am going to talk about next. A big sin can come in through a tiny door, so they say. Grrrrr! You can growl like a great, hairy bear by now, and perhaps that is how you’ll appear. But despite that, it’ll be very hard for you to behave sensibly and wisely in that fresh new Hell, in the lions’ den, the night-club, the flop-house, the shameful bed, the spice-chamber, and the thousand-and-one other places that belong to the Indolent Idolaters here on the Earth. Not only shall you plunge your spoon into that cauldron of corruption; but you shall enjoy throwing yourself head-first into sewers worse than those of the Nw Yrth, too. My Lord, shall all the plans, so carefully made, come to naught?
[David] Mae’n amlwg i fi o leia’, taw dihangfa o ryw fath yw’r anrheg wedi’i guddio yng nghalon iaith fel gwlithen yng nghanol letysen. Fe gawson ni’n geni heb iaith ond fydd y sefyllfa ‘ma ddim yn parhau am amser hir. Wedyn, ar ôl consurio ysbryd rhyw iaith, fel arfer yn unol â dewis y rhieni, fe fyddwn ni’n crwydro drwy febyd fel nant sisialog, gan ddysgu ystyr geiriau chwerw a melys, a llawer o derminoleg briodol hefyd. Ar y naill law, gyda’r iaith ‘ma fe fydd rhai’n bwrw hud drwy weddill eu hoes. Ar y llaw arall, falle bydd hi’n ein rheoli a’n llywio ni at angau, hyd yn oed. Mae’n bosib bydd hi’n cynnau tân syniadau newydd, gan agor ffyrdd i ddarganfod gwybodaeth anadnabyddus, a chefnogi einioes lawn o antur a chyffro. Serch ‘ny, gall ychydig o eiriau drwg ddod yn hadau trychineb a dinistr, fel bydd yn aml ddigwydd ym mywyd y sawl dyw’m yn ddigon clyfar na gofalus. Yn yr achos ‘ma, dim byd ond taith hir a phoenus i’r carchar neu’r gwallgofdy fydd byw – taith fydd yn arwain cyn rhy hir i dranc gwarthus.[David] It’s obvious to me at least, that escape of some sort is the present hidden in the heart of language, like a slug in the middle of a lettuce. We were born without language but this situation doesn’t last for a long time. Then, after conjuring up the spirit of some language, usually in accordance with our parents’ choice, we wander through childhood like a babbling brook, learning the meaning of words, bitter and sweet, and lots of appropriate terminology too. On the one hand, with this language some will cast spells for the rest of their lives. On the other hand, perhaps it will control us and steer us towards death, even. It’s possible that it’ll light the fire of new ideas, opening ways to discover unknown information, and support a lifetime full of adventure and excitement. Despite that, a few bad words can become seeds of disaster and destruction, as often happens in the life of one who’s not clever or careful enough. In this case, living will be but a long and painful journey to the jail or the mad-house – a journey that’ll lead before too long to an ignominious death.
[Steffan] Yn y cyfamser, yn ôl yn y Brifdechneg, ar ôl pob penwythnos rhemp, ffieiddiwch yr amgylchfyd dirdynnol a’ch gwna’n hollol ddigalon. Yno, ni fyddwch byth yn ddigon da o achos eich acen werinol a’ch cefndir gostyngedig – a’ch doniau arallfydol o ran cyfrif yr ots gamblo, dweud ffortiynau, a chael sbeis gan yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd. Cewch chi’ch cnoi’n dipiau ac wedyn eich poeri allan fel pe tasech yn rhyw dalp o faco drewllyd. Byddwch yn felltigedig, ar wahân, ac ni wybyddwch sut y bydd gweiddi ar y diawliaid, sut i fynegi’ch teimladau dyfnaf, cywir. Ceisiwch astudio’r Hen Lyfrau dan ddylanwad sylweddau neilltuol i ddwysáu’ch mewnwelediad, a phallu, gan deimlo’n ddiwerth. Ond llwyddo a wnewch i brofi gweledigaethau arswydus o’r Nw Yrth a’r gweithredoedd a achosir gan y rhai sydd yn gwrthod rheol gyfreithiol y Swynwyr Seraffaidd. Ond o leiaf byddant yn ysbrydoli’ch paentiadau enwog yn amserau i ddod. Ac yn y pendraw, bydd hyn i gyd yn dal i fyny â chi’n wir, gan fynd yn ormod, a ffrwydrwch chi. Fe ddywedwch wrthynt yr hyn feddyliwch ohonynt i gyd trwy beintio’ch barn, llawn symbolau astrus, ar wal y Neuadd Fawr wedi’i thaenu â murluniau o hen gonos, mewn gwaed (wel, paent coch), un nos olau leuad. Bydd fel pe buasech yn tynnu nyth cacwn ar eich pen chi, fy machgen i![Steffan] In the meantime, back in the Unitechnic, after every weekend of excess, you’ll despise the excruciating environment which totally disheartens you. There, you’ll never be good enough due to your plebeian accent and your humble background – and your otherworldly talents at calculating gambling odds, telling fortunes, and getting spice from the Old Holy Warrior. You shall be chewed up and then spat out as if you were some chunk of stinking tobacco. You shall be accursed, cast out, and you shall not know how to shout at the devils, how to express your true, deepest feelings. You shall attempt to study the Old Books under the influence of particular substances to intensify your insight, and shall fail, feeling worthless. But succeed you shall in experiencing horrifying visions of the Nw Yrth and the acts caused by those who refuse the legal rule of the Seraphic Sorcerers. But at least they shall inspire your famous paintings in times to come! And in the end, all this shall catch up with you indeed, becoming too much, and you shall explode. You shall tell them what you think of them all by plastering your opinion, full of abstruse symbols, on the wall of the Great Hall, covered with pictures of old fogeys, using blood (well, red paint), one moon-lit night. It will be as if you have kicked a hornet’s nest, my boy!
[David] Mae’r lluniau ‘ma o ddiangfeydd, wedi’u llenwi â hiraeth am dir wedi’i anghofio amser maith yn ôl, yn carlamu drwy’n ymennydd llidiog fel ceffylau esgyrnog, cynddeiriog, a dw i’n teimlo mor gryf fod rhaid i fi’n hunan ddianc, rhedeg bant, deifio i’r Môr Mawr Llwyd a nofio nerth ‘y mreichiau. Felly dyma fi’n cyflym godi oddi ar yr hen gadair esmwyth wedi’i staenio eto â’r holl waed a chofion arswyd a marw; baglu i’r awyr drwchus a llygredig yn y byd tu hwnt i’r dychymyg sy’n llechu tu mas, gan adael awyrgylch myglyd y tŷ am byth. Dyma ddechrau taith tuag at ryddid dw i ‘di bod yn aros amdani drwy gydol ‘yn oes. Dyma’r adeg i fynd, i chwilio am yr enfys a’r peth wmbredd o aur, pair dadeni, ar ei ben, neu af fi byth! Rhwydd hynt i chi, a da boch chi – nes i ni i gyd gyrraedd pennau’n teithiau, ddiwedd yr un hanes dynol – achos fe fydd pob stori’n gorffen fel ‘na, yn y llyfrau gorau o leia’ – mewn dianc i deyrnas, allwn ni obeithio, ble na fydd cysgodion rheibus yn bodoli o gwbl! Ac am ryw reswm, dyna’r Hen Filwr yn galw arna i dan wenu o glust i glust wrth i ‘nghreithiau ysu a llosgi fel glo byw ar ‘y nghroen.[David] These pictures of escapes, filled with longing for a long-ago-forgotten land, gallop through my inflamed mind like rabid, skeletal horses, and I feel so strongly that I myself must escape, run off, dive into the Great Grey Sea and swim as hard as I can. So I get up quickly from the old comfy chair still stained with all the blood and the memories of horror and dying; stumble into the thick and polluted air in the unimaginable world that lurks outside, leaving the stifling atmosphere of the house for ever. This is the beginning of a journey towards freedom I’ve been waiting for all my life. This is the time to go, to look for the rainbow and for the pile of gold, the cauldron of rebirth, at its end, or I never will! May the winds favour you, and may you go well – until we all reach the end of our journeys, at the end of the same human story – as every story finishes like that, in the best books at least – in escape to a kingdom, we can hope, where greedy shadows don’t exist at all! And for some reason, there’s the Old Soldier calling me, grinning from ear to ear, as my scars itch and burn like live coals on my skin.
[Steffan] O diar, O diar! Dyna ffŵl fyddwch chi! Dyna drueni a fydd! Pa fodd y cwympodd y cedyrn – fel yr ebycha’r Deon wrth iddo’ch alltudio o’r Brifdechneg, pan ddaw hi’n gyfrif. Felly, ‘Bant â chi, fachgen!’ dim byd mwy na hynny. Fe fydd yn eich atal rhag bwyd a llety – ac wedyn, trwy bŵer cloch, llyfr, a channwyll y bydd eich enw’n gabl. Fe rwygir eich gŵn yn ddau – fe droir eich cap academaidd i’n sbot morter go iawn. Ac felly – ymhlith bedlam y byrddau duon – yn ôl deddf y jyngl addysgol, sef, Meistr y manylion a drecho – y bydd yn oes oesoedd, amen. Wele nerth y Gair! Ni fedra’r rhif saith eich helpu’r tro hwn wrth ichi adrodd – Ysfa Saith Mlynedd – y Saith Lliw Sylfaenol – Saith Diwrnod yr Wythnos – y Saith Gelfyddyd Freiniol – Saith Symudiad mewn Bale – Saith Rhyfeddod y Byd – y Rhyfel Saith Mlynedd – ond nid yr un mymryn o’r mantrâu hudol hyn fydd o fudd ichi. Fe gewch eich taflu allan o’r Sefydliad Hynafol a Rhyfedd cyn ichi ddechrau’n o iawn. Ond ni fydd dim troi’r cloc yn ei ôl erbyn hynny. Pa beth bynnag a ddechreuwyd, ni ellir heb ei wneuthur. Dyna’r cwbl, bois bach, heb air o gelwydd! Beth yn y Ddau Fyd yw diben yr holl beth? A yw hi’n werth mynd ymlaen? Wel dichon mai’r doeth na ddywed a ŵyr, ond cofiwch chi hyn o leiaf: arf glew yn ei galon, fy mechgyn i, asgre lân, diogel ei pherchen. Felly, diolch ichi, a ffarwél![Steffan] Oh dear, Oh dear! What a fool you shall be! It shall be such a pity! Oh how the mighty are fallen – as the Dean exclaims while he exiles you from the Unitechnic, when the time comes. So ‘Off with you, boy!’ nothing more than that. He will ban you from bed and board – and then, through the power of bell, book, and candle, you shall be pronounced anathema. Your gown shall be torn asunder – Your mortarboard shall be made into a real mortar-board. And so – amongst the bedlam of the blackboards – according to the law of the academic jungle, namely, May the master of the minutiae prevail – shall it be, for ever and ever, amen. Behold the power of the Word! The number seven shall not be able to help you this time as you recite – The Seven Year Itch – Seven Days of the Week – the Seven Liberal Arts – Seven Movements in Ballet – Seven Wonders of the World – the Seven Years War – but not one jot of these magical mantras shall be of benefit to you. You shall be flung out of the Ancient and Strange Institution before you start properly. But there shall be no turning the clock back by then. Whatever’s begun, cannot be undone. That is all, my lads, without a word of a lie! What in the Two Worlds is the point of the whole palaver? Is it worth going on? Well perhaps the wise man does not say what he knows, but remember this at least: the weapon of the brave is in his heart, my boys, safe is the owner of a pure heart. So, thanks to you, and farewell!
Heb yn wybod i’r ddau lanc, maen nhw’n consurio rhithiau’r dyfodol, neu’n gweithredu fel erialau, falle – y naill ohonyn nhw sy eisiau galw ei Mam yn ôl o’r bedd o hyd, gan lynu wrth fywyd; y llall sy eisiau gadael popeth ar ôl, gan feddwl uwchben ‘neud amdano’i hun.Unbeknownst to the two lads, they’re conjuring spectres of the future, or acting as aerials, perhaps – the one of them who wants to call his Mam back from the grave still, clinging to life; the other who wants to leave everything behind, meditating on killing himself.
Felly dyma fachgen o’r enw David ar fin dianc, ar fedr rhedeg i ffwrdd unwaith eto, fel arfer, ac efallai bydd yn llwyddo’r tro hwn, er nad yw’n sylweddoli cywir natur y grym sy wastad yn ei yrru yn ei flaen, na phoeni amdani ‘chwaith, wrth iddo symud. Ac eto i gyd i ba hafan ddiogel bydd e’n ffoi, ac i freichiau cynnes pwy? Fe fydd rhywun, yn rhywle, rhywsut, i ofalu amdano fe, fydd e’n gallu rhannu gyda nhw’i freuddwydion twp am newid y byd drwy drefnu partïon rhydd, a cherddoriaeth rafio, a lledu’r cariad, on’ bydd? Ond cyn i ‘ny allu digwydd, bydd rhaid iddo ymweld â’r bwthyn yn y goedwig o binwydd ar lan yr afon lle bydd popeth wastad yn edrych mor drist, y lle mae’r Hen Filwr wedi’i ddangos iddo. Mae’n sicr fe fydd rhywbeth yno o werth enfawr os bydd yn bosibl dod o hyd iddo.So, here’s a boy called David on the verge of escaping, about to run off once again, as usual, and perhaps he’ll succeed this time, although he doesn’t realise the true nature of the force that’s always driving him on, nor worry about it either, as he moves. And then again, to what safe haven will he flee, and into whose warm arms? There will be someone, somewhere, somehow, to care for him, with whom he’ll be able to share his silly dreams about changing the world through organising free parties, and rave music, and spreading the love, won’t there? But before that can happen, he’ll have to visit the cottage in the pine woods on the bank of the river where everything always looks so sad, the place the Old Soldier has shown him. He’s sure there’ll be something there of enormous value if he can find it.
A dyna ddyn o’r enw Steffan, fel gafr ar daranau. Mae wedi dod i ben ei dennyn erbyn hyn ac yn eistedd yn unig ar lan yr Afon Wylofus ymhlith y fforest binwydd, yn y cysgod llydan sydd sylwedd oedolaeth, a dydy’r tywyllwch ddim yn ffrind mwyach, na’dy, dim yn awr. Mae’r nos yn udo, er bod ei udo’i hun wedi distewi, ond ‘sdim môr-ladron i’w gipio ymaith ar wely hedfannog, nac yw gwerin y coed yno i’w gwtsio fe bellach – dim gwir ffrindiau gwryw – neb. Ar ei ben ei hunan, mae’n llygadu’r allweddi â gwaed arnyn nhw, a’r cnawd cignoeth ar flaen ei fraich chwith, wrth i’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wylio yn y pellter, dan bwdu. Mae rhai geiriau wedi’u cysegru i briodferch anhrefn, iddi hyhi sy'n marchogaeth ar y bwystfil, yn hongian yn y tarth: ‘Â'r gyllell hon yr wyf fi'n tynnu'r gwaed, sydd fy mywyd.’ Fel sy ‘di digwydd mor aml o’r blaen, fe fyddai raid i’r llanc wisgo llewys hir yfory i gelu’r briwiau, ond y tro ‘ma mae ‘di penderfynu heb gysgod amheuaeth taw yfory na fydd. Wezir a’m helpo yw’i obaith gwan wrth baratoi i’w daflu ei hun i’r dŵr lliw rhwd, llawn olew seicedelig, trolïau siopa drylliedig, a chyrff llygod mawr, marw. A dyna fe’n dymuno fe allai fe hedfan.And there’s a man called Steffan, extremely agitated. He’s reached the end of his tether by now and it sitting alone on the bank of the Weeping River amongst the forest of pines, in the wide shadow that is the substance of adulthood, and the darkness is no longer a friend, not now. The night is howling, although his own howling has stopped, but there are no pirates to snatch him away on a flying bed, nor are the tree-people there to cuddle him now – no true male friends – no-one. Alone, he eyes up the bloody keys, and the raw flesh on his lower left arm, whilst the Old Holy Warrior watches in the distance, scowling. Some words dedicated to the bride of chaos, the rider upon the beast, hang in the mist: ‘With this knife, do I draw out the blood, which is my life’. As has happened so often before, the lad’ll have to wear long sleeves tomorrow to hide the wounds, but, this time, he’s decided without a shadow of a doubt that tomorrow shall not be. Wezir help me, is his wan hope while preparing to fling himself into the rust-coloured water, full of psychedelic oil, wrecked shopping-trolleys, and the bodies of dead rats. And he so wishes he could fly.
Ac o achos meddyliau’r ddau lanc, sy’n atsain o’r dyfodol i’r gorffennol, siŵr o fod, dyna ryw gân, ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’, gan y band roc gothig o’r enw Necro Stellar nas cyfansoddwyd eto, wedi’i darlledu o’r Nw Yrth i chwythu trwy ymennydd y ddau, ac mae’n llawn hud Guede, a dagrau cyson y Swynwr Seraffaidd o’r enw Nebesh—And due to the thoughts of the two lads, which are echoing from the future to the past, probably, there’s some song, ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’, by the goth-rock band called Necro Stellar which hasn’t yet been composed, broadcast from the Nw Yrth to blow through the minds of both, and it’s full of Guede magic, and the constant tears of the Seraphic Sorcerer named Nebesh—
Ym mhobman rwy’n gweld y gwepau ‘ma,
Drwy’r wyneb drychaidd maen nhw’n gwylio;
Yn aml rwy’n syllu i’m hadlewyrchiad,
Gan geisio dal golygon y meirwon;
Maen nhw i gyd yn aros dan y dŵr,
Mewn cyrff eilwaith yn y cnawd,
Gan wenu mewn heddwch ar y gwaelod,
Maen nhw’n dod mas cyn edwino'n gyflym.

Edrych! Dyna ysgafn a thyner yw bywyd,
A dyna uchel yw eneidiau’r meirwon;
Yn awr rwy’n gwisgo’r masg Guede ar ‘y mhen,
Rwy’n estyn atat ti ‘nwylo.

Dim ond dynesa at ‘yn hanfod fioled,
Agor letach dy lygaid a wnïwyd;
Yn fuan bydd yn rhaid i ti groesi’r ffens gyfyngol,
I sylweddoli Tranc a Bywyd.		Everywhere I see these faces,
Through the mirror-like surface they watch;
I peer into my reflection often,
Trying to catch the aspects of the dead ones;
All of them are waiting under water,
In bodies once again reborn,
Smiling in peace at the bottom,
They emerge before quickly fading.

Look! How fragile and tender is life,
And how high up are the souls of the dead;
Now I wear the Guede mask on my head,
I stretch out to you my hands.

Just come closer to my violet essence,
Open wider your sewed-up eyes;
Soon you must cross the restricting fence,
Life and Death to realise.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 17

Pennod Un ar Hugain: Darogan (Lleisiau 17) / Foretelling (Voices 17)

“Mor wan â mwg yw dyn, ac yn y pridd dinistrir ef; ar hyn o bryd, yn y fan a’r lle, rydym i fyw” – Diarheb Etrwsgeg o ‘Egwyddorion Barddoniath Feddyliaethol’ gan Yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar.

“Popeth byrhoedlog anfonir yn arwydd; Diffyg y Ddaear sy’n tyfu o herwydd; Heb ei ddisgrifio, yn y fan ‘ma y’i cwplir; Hanfod menywod a’n harwain o anwir” – o ‘Corws Cyfriniol’ gan P Mamrick (fersiwn o ‘Chorus Mystycus’ yn ‘Faust Rhan 2’ gan Johann Wolfgang von Goethe).

“A man is as weak as smoke, and in the soil he is destroyed; it is here and now we are to live” –Etruscan proverb from ‘Principles of Mentalist Poetry’ by Professor Jelena Pekar.

“All things that wither are sent but as guidelines; The Earth’s Lack of lustre thus outstrips its confines; Escaping description, here all lies completed; By feminine soul untruths’ wiles are defeated” – from ‘Mystic Chorus’ by P Mamrick (a version of ‘Chorus Mysticus’ in ‘Faust Part 2’ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe).

Yn nhiroedd anghysbell tros y Môr Mawr Llwyd (felly y rhed y stori rwy wedi’i chlywed), roedd Daud (yn ôl ei eiriau ei hun a adroddai wrthyf fi yn ystod y sesiynau sgwrsio a gwrando tra hir ond hudol y’m gorfodid i’w dioddef yn Ystafell 1/7 bron pob dydd), wedi bod yn poeni mai ei ymadael yn y pendraw a wnâi ei chwaer Jelena, y ‘dywysoges arallfydol’, pan fyddai wedi ymbriodi Stjepan. Ac wedyn – arswyd y byd! – byddai raid iddo dyfu i fyny fel petai, ac aeddfedu. Roedd ef yn gywir i ryw raddau, am fod Jelena ar fin dod yn farddes enwog erbyn i’w Tad farw mewn sefyllfaoedd drwgdybus, ac felly gadawodd hi’r cartref teuluol am byth i deithio a pherfformio trwy’r byd tros y Saith Môr Pechadurus. Mae hi bellach, gredech chi, yn athrawes gadeiriol ym Mholy-ysgol Aberdydd, a defnyddiwn ni lawer o’i dulliau chwyldroadol, ac yn enwedig, ‘barddoniaeth feddyliaethol,’ yn gelfydd yma.In remote lands over the Great Grey Sea (so runs the story I’ve heard), Daud (according to his own words, which he recited to me during the very long but enchanting talk-and-listen sessions that I was forced to endure in Room 1/7 almost every day), had been worrying that his sister, Jelena, the ‘extra-terrestrial princess’, would leave him in the end. when she married Stjepan. And then, -- horror of horrors! – he would have to grow up, as it were, and mature. He was correct to some extent, as Jelena was on the verge of becoming a famous poet by the time their Father died in suspicious circumstances, and so she left the family home to travel and teach throughout the world over the Seven Sinful Seas. She is by now, would you believe it, a chaired professor in Aberdydd Poly-versity, and we use many of her revolutionary methods, and especially ‘mentalist poetry,’ to good effect here.
O ran Stjepan, wrth gwrs, roedd Daud yn anghywir mewn ffordd, a heb fod yn rhy aflednais, roedd gan y cyntaf ei broblemau ei hun gyda hunaniaeth, ac fel arall, gan gynnwys caethineb i sylwedd o wledydd estron, o’r enw ‘sbeis,’ wedi’i wneud o faw mwnci. Ni allaf fi honni rhithyn o wybodaeth na phrofiad ynghylch y fath sylwedd; mae’r rhai y byddwn ni’n eu defnyddio gan amlaf yma yn y Clinig yn bur, digymysg, a llawer drutach; maent o ansawdd clinigol, ddylem ddweud.On the part of Stjepan, of course, Daud was incorrect in a way, and without being too course, the former had his own problems with identity, and otherwise, including addiction to substances from foreign parts, called ‘spice,’ made from monkey dropping. I cannot claim a speck of knowledge about, or of experience of, such a substance; the ones we use most often here in the Clinic are pure, unadulterated, and a lot more expensive; they are of clinical quality, could we say?
Pa un bynnag, daethpwyd â Daud i Aberdydd gan yr Hen Filwr yn fuan ar ôl i’w Dad ymadael i Byllau Du’r Nw Yrth. Yn anffodus, yn ôl cyfrif Jelena, yr oedd hi’n rhy brysur o lawer i ymweld â’r brawd byth erioed, ac ni fyddai lawer o gysylltiad rhyngddynt yn ein tref hyfryd ar lan y môr ychwaith cyd iddo fynd i ymuno â’i gyndadau.In any case, Daud was brought to Aberdydd by the Old Soldier soon after his father departed to the Black Pools of the Nw Yrth. Unfortunately, according to Jelena’s account, she would be much too busy to visit her brother ever again, and there would not be much contact between them in our lovely sea-side town either before he went to meet his forefathers.
Yr oedd ‘colli’ ei chwaer yn ergyd ysgytwol i enaid Daud (roedd yn defnyddio’r enw David erbyn hynny, arfer a seiliwyd ar ei gariad dros ben llestri tuag at Aberdydd), ac ymatebodd yn enbyd. Roedd wedi bod yn gwneud ei orau glas gyda ni yn y Clinig yn y dechrau, ond rebel yn y bôn ydoedd, a dymunai ef gyfieithu gweithiau gan Cynhyrfwr-gwaywffon a Mamrick i’r Gymraeg yn hytrach nag astudio’r cyrsiau penodedig. Wrth reswm roedd glaslanciau eraill hefyd, plant amddifaid. a rhai a chanddynt ddoniau rhyfedd, ac yn y blaen, dan ein gofal yma ar y pryd. Ond fel arfer, nid oedd David yn hoff iawn o’i gyd-ddisgyblion o gwbl. Y ‘Dynion Sed’ oedd ei enw gwatwarus arnynt am nad oedd ganddynt yr un pwerau ag roedd ganddo ef, yn ei farn. Yn anad dim y byddai’n cwyno am y gwersi mewn calcwlws gwahaniaethol a chyfannol ac ati, gan gofio pethau annifyr o’i febyd tramor, ond odid.‘Losing’ his sister was a shocking blow to Daud’s spirit (he was using the name David by then, a practice based on his over-the-top love for Aberdydd), and he responded terribly. He had been doing his level best with us in the Clinic to start, but he was fundamentally a rebel, and he wanted to translate works by Shakes-spear and Mamrick into Welsh rather than study the appointed courses. Of course there were other youths too, orphans, and ones with strange talents, and so on, under our care here at the time. But as usual David was not very fond of his fellow-pupils at all. The ‘Zed-Men’ was his mocking name for them, as they did not have the same powers as he did, in his opinion. More than anything else he used to complain about the lessons in differential and integral calculus and suchlike, remembering distasteful things from his childhood overseas, probably.
Ond nid y rhain yr oeddem yn eu darparu yma y pryd hynny. A bod yn fanwl gywir, roeddem yn canolbwyntio ar bynciau sydd yn bwysicach o lawer ar gyfer ein huwch-arwyr mewn bwriad, megis astroleg ac alcemeg, a ddysgwyd gan yr Hen Filwr oedd yn gweithio tros yr achos cyn iddo esgyn i ogoniant. Wel, rwy’n dyfalu mai dyna oedd ei amcan gan ei eiriau olaf, sef, ‘ Glân yw enaid dyn, Nid bywyd ond fflam hygryn, Drenga wrth godi,’ beth bynnag fydd ystyr hynny.But it is not these that were being provided here at that time. To be totally correct, we were concentrating on topics which are much more useful for our would-be super-heroes, such as astrology and alchemy, which were taught by the Old Soldier who was working for the cause before he ascended to glory. Well, I am guessing that that was his intention from his last words, namely, ‘Pure is a man’s soul, Life nought but a trembling flame, Which dies as it rises,’ whatever that means.
Mynegai David ei anfodlonrwydd tuag at bawb a phopeth, ac yn enwedig at ‘rymoedd gormesol yr awdurdodau atgas’ (pwy bynnag fônt) trwy ddifetha’r adeiladau o amgylch Poly-ysgol Aberdydd, a’r Clinig hwn ei hun, ag arwydd lluoedd y gwrthryfelwyr o’r hen Famwlad. Ac ym mhob un o’i anturiau, derbyniodd David gefnogaeth gyson gan ddyn o’r enw Steffan Grossmann, oedd yn gwirfoddoli yma yn y Clinig. Ddylai Steffan, sy’n drist, call, ac enfawr, fod wedi dod yn rhifolwr glân yn gweithio i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ar ôl gadael y Brifdechneg, yn nhyb ei Fam, sydd cyn wynned â'r ewyn ar y dŵr. Wedyn, byddai’n rheoli’r Bydysawd (neu ryw ranbarth pwysig o’r Ddaear o leiaf) o Dref Emrallt, gan gywiro camgymeriadau, a rhoi trefn yn lle anrhefn. Cyn iddo ddiflannu mor sydyn â lleidr yng nghrombil y nos, yr oedd ei Dad absennol yn credu y dylai Steffan fynd yn ei flaen i ennill dyrneidiau o fudrelw (heb sôn am y cil-dyrnau cyfreithlon, a’r llwgrwobrau arferol ac anarferol), trwy wasanaethu ei wlad a’i gyd-wladwyr fel Cynrychiolydd y Werin yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth.David expressed his dissatisfaction towards everyone and everything, and especially towards the ‘oppressive forces of the hateful authorities’ (whoever they may be) through defacing the buildings around Aberdydd Poly-versity, and this very Clinic, with symbols of the rebel forces from the old Motherland. And in every one of his adventures, David received constant support from the man called Steffan Grossmann who was volunteering here in the Clinic. Steffan, who is sad, wise, and enormous, should have become a holy numerologist working for the World-Wide Church after leaving the Unitechnic, in the opinion of his Mother, who is as pure as driven snow. Then, he would govern the Universe (or an important region of the Earth at least) from Emerald Town, correcting mistakes, and replacing disorder with order. Before he disappeared as suddenly as a thief in the depths of the night, his absent Father believed that he should go on to earn fistfuls of filthy lucre (not to mention the legal tips, and the usual and unusual bribes), through serving his country and his compatriots as People's Representative in Government House.
Fel y digwyddodd, cafodd y tri ohonynt ei siomi’n enbyd oherwydd yr antur drychinebus a byrhoedlog yn Hybarch Sefydliad Addysg Uwch. Ar ôl dioddef o waeledd nerfol o ganlyniad i’w brofiadau personol a’i ddefnydd o gyffuriau anghyfreithlon, a berai iddo brofi gweledigaethau brawychus, ac, ar adegau, ceisio lladd ei hun, creodd ef fyd ffantasi’n seiliedig ar lyfrau comics arswyd. Arferai fe ddweud ei storïau wrth David, cyn iddynt gael eu cyhoeddi o’r diwedd yn y wasg ddirgel.As it happened, the three of them were terribly disappointed because of the disastrous and short-lived adventure in the Venerable Institute of Higher Learning. After suffering a nervous breakdown because of his personal experiences and his use of illegal drugs, which caused him to experience terrifying visions, and, on occasions, to try and kill himself, he created for himself a fantasy world based on horror-comics. He used to tell his stories to David before they were eventually published in the underground press.
Digwyddodd un o’i gastiau gwaeth pan wnaeth David ‘herwgipio’ ei ffrind ffyddlon a dianc mewn fan wen wedi’i dwyn, gan ffoi rhag yr heddlu (a rhai milwyr arfog) yn oriau mân y bore. Dydw i ddim wedi medru canfod sut beth oedd y perthynas rhwng y ddau lanc gan na fydd Steffan yn esbonio. A oeddent yn bartneriaid paffio, brwydrwyr tros ryddid a heddwch, rebeliaid heb achos na chliw, aelodau rhyw gwlt oes newydd, brodyr yn y rhyfel i oroesi, ynteu ddim ond bechgyn gwirion a ddylai fod wedi gwybod yn well?One of his worst outrages occurred when David ‘kidnapped’ his faithful friend, and escaped in a stolen white van, fleeing from the police (and some armed soldiers) in the early hours of the morning. I have not been able to discern what kind of relationship existed between the two lads as Steffan will not explain. Were they sparring partners, fighters for freedom and peace, rebels without cause or clue, members of some new-age cult, brothers in the war to survive, or just silly boys who should have known better?
Sawl peth sydd yn sicr, fodd bynnag, sef: na allai Steffan benderfynu beth i’w wneud gyda’i fywyd, wedi profi cryn drafferth wrth geisio astudio yn y Brifdechneg; ei fod yn gobeithio cael hyd i ysbrydoliaeth ynghylch ei ddyfodol a’i gwrs trwy fywyd; a’i fod yn profi cymysgedd o orfoledd ac arswyd o ddod i adnabod ei chwaer, Helen, a oedd, ryfedd dweud, newydd gyrraedd y Clinig heb rybudd fel ‘meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant’ (dyna’i geiriau, nid yr eiddof fi).Several things are sure, however, namely: that Steffan could not decide what to do with his life, having experienced considerable trouble whilst trying to study at the Unitechnic; that he was hoping to find inspiration regarding his future and direction in life; and that he was experiencing a mixture of joy and terror from getting to know his sister, Helen, who had, strange to relate, just come to the Clinic without warning as a ‘trainee mentalist’ (those are her words, not mine).
Nid oes ond rhaid dweud bod llawer o syniadau lliwgar iawn gan y ddau lanc wedi’u seilio ar y comics roeddent mor hoff ohonynt, o ran Trawsffurfio’r Byd Oll yn unol â dysgedigaeth dau grŵp rhyfedd o fodau arallfydol a allai ymyrryd mewn bywyd a thynged popeth ar wyneb ein Daear gron, ac a fyddai’n gwneud felly ar yr esgus lleiaf. Ar ben hynny, yr oedd yng nghastiau’r ddau, elfennau o ymarferion hudol a ddyfeisiwyd gan y llanciau’u hunain yn ôl pob golwg. Dydw i ddim yn sicr a lwyddasant, trwy chwarae eu gemau, i greu byd dychmygol go iawn, fel petai, wedi’i boblogi â chymeriadau, digwyddiadau, hanes, ac ieithoedd.One need only say that the two lads had very colourful ideas based on the comics of which they were so fond, involving Transforming the Whole World in accord with the teachings of two weird groups of otherworldly beings who could interfere with the life and fate of everything on the face of our round Earth, and who would do so at the least excuse. As well as that, there were in the antics of the two elements of magical practices which were devised by the lads themselves to all appearances. I am not sure whether they succeeded, through their games, in creating a real imaginary world, as it were, populated by characters, events, history, and languages.
Fodd bynnag, ymddengys yn amlwg imi y bu cryn benbleth yn bodoli yn ymennydd David ynglŷn â gwir hunaniaeth Steffan. Mae’n debyg bod y cyntaf yn meddwl yn aml mai Stjepan oedd yr ail. Ni waeth beth a fo am hynny, pan yrrodd y llanciau’r cerbyd i goeden, dryswyd cof David hyd yn oed yn waeth nag o’r blaen, a chollodd ef ei synnwyr hunaniaeth blaenorol yn llwyr. Yr oedd y ddau greadur ifanc mewn coma am gryn amser, rhywbeth a achosai i’r Hen Filwr brofi trafferth ofnadwy am ryw reswm nad wy’n deall o gwbl hyd yn hyn. A, rhyfedd iawn adrodd, yr oedd ef yn anghysuradwy pan wellasant – gan lawenydd, ddywedwn i, heb os nac oni bai, o’i adnabod cystal.However, it appears to me that considerable confusion existed in David’s mind about the true nature of Steffan’s identity. It is likely that the former often thought that the latter was Stjepan. Never mind about that, when the lads drove the vehicle into a tree, David’s memory was upset even worse than before, and he lost his former sense of identity entirely. The two young things were in a coma for a considerable time, something that caused the Old Soldier to experience awful trouble for some reason I do not at all understand even now. And, very strange to relate, he was inconsolable when they recovered – from happiness, I would say, without a doubt, as I know him so well.
O hynny ymlaen y mynnai David ddefnyddio’r llysenw Dai neu Dazza (sydd yn codi pwys arnaf fi), a cheisio gorfodi Steffan i fabwysiadau ffugenw cyfatebol, sef ‘Stezza’ (sydd yn gwneud imi grynu’n fwy). Ymhellach, âi Dai a Steffan fel pâr o efeilliaid na ellid eu gwahanu o amgylch y cefn gwlad, gan drefnu partïon dawns rhydd yma a thraw, yn groes i bob rheol a osodwyd gan y Pwyllgor Cyhoeddus Lleol (heb sôn am orchmynion y Llywodraeth Genedlaethol). Cyfansoddwyd y darn canlynol fel ‘hanes bywyd amgen,’ gan Dai gan ddefnyddio’r dechneg o’r enw ‘botsian,’ o dan ddylanwad cyffuriau neu swyngwsg ar dro, fel rhan o’i driniaeth yma yn y Clinig.From then on, David insisted on using the nickname Dai or Dazza (which makes me feel ill), and he tried to force Steffan to adopt a corresponding nom de guerre, namely ‘Stezza’ (which makes me cringe more). Furthermore, Dai and Steffan would go around the countryside like a pair of inseparable twins, organising free dance-parties here and there, contrary to every rule set by the Local Public Committee (not to mention the commands of the National Government). The following piece was composed by Dai as an ‘alternative life-history,’ using the technique called ‘pottering about,’ under the influence of drugs or trance on occasions, as part of his treatment here in the Clinic.
Fe ddisgyn cysgod dros yr ŵyn,
Ac ar ben hynny ger mur llwyn,
Mewn hen gwm mud (neu hwyrach glyn),
Sy’n serth a dirgel hyd yn hyn,
A’r tyle’n llawn o binwydd crin –
A swrth – heb sain – llawn tywyll rin,
Lle, ‘nawr, dan drem y lleuad lem,
Fe drig teuluoedd tra di-glem,
Mewn bwthyn tlawd a phlasty coeth,
Myn brain, ni thyfant wynwydd doeth,
(Ond dwg, efallai, lwythi gwanc)!
A chri eu geni hyd eu tranc,
Yw sgrech o wŷn gan rithiol graith;
A’u huddir beunydd gan swyn iaith –
Gan gysgod coch a gwawdlyd gnawd –
Hyd nes y dychwel cryman ffawd,
I’w hela nhw dros gau a phant –
Ac arllwys gwaed mewn fflamllyd nant.
Os un fydd farw, pawb fydd fyw –
A achub ef holl ddynol ryw?		Across the lambs a shadow falls,
And furthermore, beside grove’s wall,
In old mute coomb (or maybe vale),
Where secret still, and steep, winds trail,
On hill, chock-full of withered pines –
So sullen – dumb – dark virtue’s shrine,
Where, now, 'neath harsh-eyed gaze of moon,
Live tribes of truly clueless loons,
In cottage poor, and mansion fine,
Oh Gods, they grow not wisdom’s vines,
(But bear, perchance, loads huge of lust)!
From birthing-cry to death’s last gust,
They screech with pain from spectral scar,
Each day locked tight by word-charmed bars –
By shadow red and bloody flesh –
Until returns fate's scythe afresh,
To hound them down through field and dell –
And blood pours out ‘midst flame-stream fell.
If one man dies, then all survive;
Through him will human-kind all thrive?
Yn y dull arloesol hwn, wedi’i berffeithio gennyf fi fy hun yma yn ein Clinig arbrofol, bydd y claf yn breuddwydio, dychmygu cymeriadau, a dyfeisio sefyllfaoedd, heb lestair – fel petai’n ‘corlannu praidd o gysgodion’ – ac wedyn bydd yn actio’r ffantasi, er mwyn dod â chyfrinachau’r anymwybod i’r amlwg, a chyrraedd cyfanrwydd meddyliol. Manwl dros ben oedd y rhan fwyaf o argoelion Dai, ar ôl dehongli, mewn gwirionedd. Felly y mae stori Daud, David, neu Dai’n parhau fel rhyw nofel graffig, o safbwynt a leolir yma yn y Clinig ymhlith y pinwydd yn Aberdydd. Rhaid cofio fodd bynnag mai tra bo un set o gymeriadau (Daud, Stjepan, Jelena, ac Ivan) yn eithaf gwahanol i’r lleill (David, Staffan, Elen a John; neu Dai, Stevo, Helen a Jack) ar y wyneb, mae llawer o debygrwydd rhwng eu personoliaethau a’u perthnasau yn y bôn – yn fy nhyb proffesiynol o leiaf.In this innovative method, perfected by me myself here in our experimental Clinic, the patient dreams, imagines characters, and invents situations without restraint – as if he were ‘shepherding a flock of shadows’ – and then he acts out the fantasy, in order to bring the secrets of the unconscious to light, and reach mental wholeness. Extremely detailed was the majority of Dai’s forecasts, after interpretation, in truth. So, the story of Daud, David, or Dai, continues, like some graphic novel, from a viewpoint located here in the Clinic amidst the pines in Aberdydd. One must remember however that whilst one set of characters (Daud, Stjepan, Jelena and Ivan) are quite different to the others (David, Steffan, Elen and John; or Dai, Stevo, Helen and Jack) on the surface, there are many similarities between their personalities and their relationships deep down – in my professional opinion at least.
A myfi a ddylai wybod, ac ni ddargyfeirir hynt fy nymuniadau, er sut i’r Hen Filwr geisio fy rhwystro er ei fwyn hunanol ef ei hun. Am mai myfi yw’r unig ddyn hyd yn hyn sydd yn deall, ac wedi datgan, geiriau Defod Amasus i agor porth rhwng ein byd arferol ni o symbolau defnyddiol a delweddau hardd a hudol, a rhyw fyd arall, sydd amgen o’r gwraidd, ac yn llawn arswydau a rhyfeddodau mwy real na realiti ei hun, ac sydd yn dal i fyw eto!And I should know, and the course of my desires shall not be averted, despite how the Old Soldier tried to prevent me, to his own selfish ends. For I am the only man up to now, who has understood, and declared, the words of the Amasus Ritual to open a gate between our usual world of useful symbols and images, beautiful and magical, and some other world, which is fundamentally other, and full of horrors and wonders more real than reality itself, and who still lives yet!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 18

Pennod Dau ar Hugain: Llefaru (Lleisiau 18) / Speaking (Voices 18)

Er popeth yr ydym yn ei wybod parthed cysgodion trwy wyrthiau gwyddoniaeth, sef yr achoseg sydd yn cyfrif am y faith eu bod yn bodoli yn y lle cyntaf. a deddfau natur sydd yn rheoli sut yr ymddygant, mae rhai yn dal i amau nad gwir bethau ydynt o gwbl, am nad ydynt yn endidau sylweddol, fel petai. Maent yn maentumio mai dim ond ffenomenau eilaidd ydy cysgodion, ac oherwydd y fath amheuon, yn mynnu holi a ydy’n synhwyrol tybio ai ffrwythau ein cyd-ddychmygu yn unig ydynt, mewn gwirionedd. Os bydd hyn yn gywir, wedyn bydd yn naturiol ystyried cwestiynau eraill: a allwn ni eu trin dim ond fel gwrthrychau ofn plentynnaidd, symbolau sydd yn arwyddo diffygion  a chwantau anymwybodol, neu ysbrydoliaeth ar gyfer delweddau celfyddydol? Ac onid ydy cysgodion yn bwysig na pheryglus o ran peri difrod corfforol neu gythrwfl yn y byd go iawn o leiaf, er enghraifft, a ganiateir inni gael gwared ar bob cysgod amheuaeth yn y dirgel, gan gyfnewid presenoldeb am absenoldeb, pethau sylweddol am rai disylwedd, goleuni am gysgod, heb achosi helbul a helynt? Fodd bynnag, pe gwnelem hyn, beth fyddai’r effaith ar sut y canfyddem wirionedd, a dirwedd ei hun? A beth am y problemau seicolegol a allai ddigwydd o ganlyniad?

Despite everything we know regarding shadows through the miracles of science, namely the aetiology which accounts for the fact that they exist in the first place, and the laws of nature which govern how they behave, there are some who still doubt that they are real things, as they are not substantial entities, as it were. They maintain that shadows are only secondary phenomena, and because of such doubts, insist on questioning whether it is sensible to consider whether, in truth, they are only the fruits of our shared imagination. If this is true, it is natural to consider other questions: can we treat them merely as objects of childish fears, symbols that signify unconscious lacks and desires, or inspiration for artistic images? And if shadows are neither important nor dangerous in terms of causing physical damage, or disturbance in the real world at least, for example, are we permitted to get rid of every shadow of doubt by stealth, exchanging presence for absence, substantial things for insubstantial ones, light for shadow, without causing trials and tribulations? However, if we were to do this, what would be the effect on how we perceive truth, and reality itself? And what of the psychological problems that might ensue as a result?

Pwy sy wedi cymryd yr awenau yma yn y Clinig hwn? Pwy sy mewn gofal ac wrth y llyw? Pwy sy’n gyfrifol, neu mewn awdurdod? Pwy sy’n arolygu, goruchwylio, cyfarwyddo, rheoli? Ac wrth gwrs, menyw yw’r ateb priodol. Hyd yn oed pan fydd yn hollol ar ei phen ei hunan, mwy neu lai, ta beth, ar ôl iddo – yntau – gefni arni hi! Hmm, wel, er gwaetha’ ‘ny…Who’s taken up the reins in this Clinic? Who’s in charge and at the helm? Who’s responsible, or in authority? Who’s supervising, overseeing, directing, managing? And of course, a woman is the appropriate answer. Even when she’s totally on her own, more or less, anyway, after he – him – deserted her! Hmm, well, never mind that…
Eilchwyl ac eilchwaith rwy’n clywed y geiriau’n galw arna i – y fam, y cadlywydd, y storïwr – drosodd a throsodd, ac maen nhw’n canu cân hudolus y Delw-addolwyr, lawn gwirionedd, dewrder, ac anobaith, ond, eto i gyd, un sy mor gyfarwydd, mor ddengar, yn rhy ddynol o lawer. Ym mro cysgodion maen nhw’n byw, yr hanesion, gan luosogi yn nheyrnas ddychmygol iaith, lle bydd chwedlau a hen hunain yn cyson gael eu hailgylchu a’u hailddyfeisio, fel na waeth pa mor gyflym y rhedwch, allwch chi byth ddianc rhagddyn nhw. Dyna pam rwy’n nychu, ar fy mhen fy hunan yn y gegin dywyll, ddrafftiog, gan hel cysgodion gefn trymedd nos.Time and time again I hear the words calling to me – the mother, the generalissimo, the story-teller – over and over, and they are singing the magical song of the Idolaters, full of truth, bravery, and despair, but, then again, one which is so familiar, tempting, much too human. In the land of the shadows they live, the tales, multiplying in the imaginary kingdom of language, where legends and old selves are constantly recycled and reinvented, so that no matter how quickly you run, you’ll never escape them. That’s why I’m languishing, alone in the dark, drafty kitchen, chasing shadows in the deepest depths of night.
A dyma fi’n archwilio fy hanes fel creadures sy wastad yn gwylio dramâu’n datblygu o’i chwmpas. Ond ar yr un pryd, ein hanes ni i gyd yw hwn, sydd lawn symbolau absenoldeb, diffyg, ac eisiau yn wir. Ac rwy’n tybio, pwy sy’n cymryd cyfrifoldeb am y rhan fwya’ o’r pethau rydym ni’n eu gwneud, o’r pethau sy’n digwydd i ni? Ydym ni’n rhydd neu fyddwn ni’n dawnsio ar ôl tiwn a gyfansoddwyd gan pwy-a-ŵyr-pwy, gan gael ein gorfodi i ddweud straeon bob tro i wneud synnwyr o’r byd? O’r braidd y gellir dweud, a sut bynnag, dyna rhyngddi hi a’i chawl, fe atebwch chi. Wel, chwarae teg, ond allwch chi’m honni dw i’m wedi gweithio hyd at yr asgwrn, achos mod i wedi ymlâdd, er na alla i syrthio i gysgu. Ond, ar ôl aros am hydoedd, fe fydda i’n pendwmpian ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr, tra aflonyddir ar fy ngorffwys gan yr un freuddwyd bob nos, lle bydd y Ddaear gron bron ar ben, a fi yw’r unig enaid ar ôl.And here I am investigating my history as a creature who’s always watching dramas unfolding about her. But at the same time, this is the story of us all, which is full of the symbols of absence, lack, and want indeed. And I wonder, who takes responsibility for the majority of the things we do, of the things that happen to us? Are we free or do we dance to a tune composed by who-knows-who, being forced to tell stories all the time to make sense of the world? We can scarcely say, and anyway, that’s her problem, you’ll answer. Well, fair enough, but you can’t claim that I haven’t worked my fingers to the bone, because I’m exhausted, although I can’t fall asleep. But, after waiting for ages, I’ll doze in the end, while my rest is disturbed by the same dream every night, where the whole Earth is almost at an end, and I am the only soul left.
Edrychwch yma, nawr. Fydda i ddim yn ymdrechu i ddadansoddi ystyron yn y fan a’r lle. Person pwyllog ac ymarferol dw i, nage’r fath i ymhyfrydu mewn ehediadau dychymyg, a sut bynnag, dw i ddim yn gymwys, ac rwy’n rhy brysur, ac mor flinedig. Yma, yng ngwlad y tylwyth teg, fi yw’r ddewines garedig, ac mae wastad negeseuon i’w gwneud. Mae’n teimlo fel petawn i’n treulio fy amser i gyd yn codi arian, cwnsela meddyliau cythryblus, estyn cymorth i’r cystuddiedig, edrych ar ôl y rhai ar fin farw, ac atal yr hen le rhag dod oddi wrth ei gilydd. Trwy gydol y dydd fe fydda i’n meddwl, a phenderfynu, a gweithredu, gan geisio 'neud y peth gorau. ‘Sdim syndod mod i ddim yn gallu cysgu pan ddaw’r amser! A fi yn fam sengl i hurtyn o fab, sy ddim yn gallu chwythu’i drwyn yn iawn, heb sôn am y llanc newydd gyrraedd dyw’m yn medru sut i sychu’i din na chlymu’i gareiau eto.Look here, now. I won’t be striving to analyse meanings here and now. I’m a sensible and practical person, not the kind to indulge in flights of fantasy, and anyway, I’m not competent, and I’m too busy, and so tired. Here, in the enchanted forest, I’m the fairy-godmother, and there’s always chores to be done. It feels like I spend all my time raising money, counselling troubled minds, giving help to the afflicted, looking after those at death’s door, and stopping the old place from falling apart. All day long I’ll be thinking, and deciding, and acting, trying to do the best thing. It’s no surprise I can’t sleep when the time comes! And me a single mother to a fool of a son, who can’t blow his own nose, not to mention the lad who’s just arrived, who isn’t able to wipe his bum nor tie his laces yet.
Ond, wedi dweud hynny oll, dw i ddim yn gallu peidio â synfyfyrio dros ddirgelion bywyd o bryd i’w gilydd, yn enwedig pan fydd angen ar Gyfarwyddwr y Clinig ail farn ynghylch un o’r preswylwyr (fel mae’n eu galw nhw). Gwaith heb ŵyl a wna Huw’n ddi-hwyl, meddan nhw, wedi’r cyfan. Mewn gwirionedd, wedi darllen yr adroddiadau, siarad â’r cleifion, gwneud ymchwil i’r pynciau priodol yn y gwerslyfrau a’r llenyddiaeth gyfoes, ymgynghori â’r brawd, a ‘sgrifennu’r nodiadau, fe fyddai rhai’n dweud mai fi yw’r arbenigwr yn y madws ‘ma. Ond, yn bennaf oll, fi yw’r unig un sy’n talu sylw i les y bobl sy’n byw yma, o ran corff ac enaid. A dyn ni’n croesawi pobl o bob math, fel yng ngeiriau rhyw hen bennill, rydym wedi gweithio gyda’r rhai sy’n chwarae rhan baban, athro, meddyg, gwas; llechgi, dysgwr, llenor, bardd; milwr, ceidwad, arwr, nyrs. Ac ambell greadur od sy’n defnyddio’r teil Dewin, hefyd.But, having said all that, I can’t stop pondering on life’s mysteries from time to time, especially when the Director of the Clinic needs a second opinion about one of the residents (as he calls them). All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy they say, after all. In truth, having read the reports, spoken with the patients, done research into the appropriate topics in the textbooks and the current literature, consulted with my brother, and written the notes, some would say that it’s me who’s the specialist in this mad’ouse. But, chief of all, I am the only one who pays attention to the welfare of the people who live here, their bodies and their minds. And we welcome all kinds of people, like in the words of some old verse, we’ve worked with ones who play the part of baby, teacher, medic, lad; lecher, learner, writer, bard; soldier, keeper, hero, nurse. And the occasional odd creature who used the title Wizard, too.
Wel, hanner gwaith ei ddechrau, a dyma fi wedi cychwyn, felly man a man i fi fynd yn fy mlaen! Yn y byd dynol hwn a grëir o eiriau, rhaid ceisio deall: ydy unrhyw beth yn bodoli ar wahân i’n meddyliau, ein cysyniadau? Ydym ni’n byw mewn ogof, lle dim ond cysgodion y pethau go iawn wedi’u taflu ar y waliau yw’r delweddau aneglur sy wastad yn toddi, a dianc rhag ein gafael? Mae popeth wedi’i gymysgu, achos dyw dim byd yn bod ar ei ben ei hun. Er enghraifft, mae gwrthrychau’n rhagdybio goddrychau; mae ar blant angen rhieni; er mwyn bod yn ddinesydd rhaid i gymdeithas fodoli; dyw’m yn bosibl sefydlu perthynas na chael sgwrs heb ddwy bobl. (wel, dwy bersonoliaeth, falle). Ond yn y diwedd fe fydda i’n ateb fy hunan gyda chwestiwn arall: pwy ydwyf fi? Neu, a bod yn fwy gwrthrychol: pwy yw hi; pwy yw’r wraig hon? Rwy’n crafu fy mhen wedi’i blastro ag eironi, gan geisio penderfynu a alla i gadw fy nhafod yn fy moch, wrth beidio rhoi fy nhroed ynddo ar yr un pryd. O, rwy’n dwlu ar gymysgu metafforau!Well, a job begun is almost done, and I’ve started so might as well go on! In this human world, created of words, we have to try to understand: does anything exist separate from our thoughts, our concepts? Do we live in a cave, were the indistinct images that’re always melting, and escaping from our grasp, are but shadows of the real things, cast on the walls? Everything is mixed up, because nothing exists on its own. For example, objects presuppose subjects; children need parents; in order to be a citizen, society must exist; it’s not possible to establish a relationship or have a chat without two people (well, two personalities, perhaps). But in the end I answer myself with another question: who am I? Or, to be more objective: who is she, who is this woman? I scratch my head, which is plastered with irony, trying to decide whether I can keep my tongue in my cheek while not putting my foot in there at the same time. Oh, I love mixing up metaphors!
Nawr ‘te, bobol bach! Gobeithio byddwch chi’n maddau fy ymgais i fod yn ffraeth yna. Menyw synhwyrol, gall, a pholéit dw i, ac eithrio pan nad ‘dw i. Nage'r Arglwyddes Macbeth na gwraig o'r Mabinogi fel Arianrhod neu Blodeuwedd monof fi! Dim ond hyn rwy’n olygu: pa achos neilltuol o’r hil ddynol yw hon? Sut wraig yw hi? Neu, yn hytrach, gwell fyddai gofyn: beth yn union yw natur ddynol y sawl sy’n gallu llunio’r fath stwff fel a gyflawnir yn y darn yma? Peidiwch chi anghofio fy mod yn chwerthin am fy mhen i ‘ma, ‘fyd. Pwy ydy, mewn geiriau eraill, all wau geiriau a ‘sgrifennu pethau rhyfeddol fel hyn, mor fawreddog â Chân Tefnuth a ddygai Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd, lawn hyd yr ymylon o harddwch a nerth? P’un o’i phen a’i phastwn, fedr gyflawni cyfryw wyrthiau? Pa fath o unigolyn all gymell pobl eraill i deimlo fel hyn neu fel ‘ny drwy ddefnyddio dim ond sgriblan inciog ar ddarnau papur sy’n dawnsio o flaen y llygaid fel gwybed mân; drwy sibrwd dim ond chwythiadau tila o wynt sy’n cosi’r clustiau am foment yn unig? Ond wrth gwrs, mae’n bosibl mai’r unig ateb yw dweud bod rhaid arholi’r gwaith ei hun yn fanwl. Ac yma, pan dw i’n dweud gwaith, straeon bywyd newydd rwy’n eu meddwl, grëwyd drwy broses siarad a dychmygu fydd yn arwain at ddatblygu a thyfu. Dyna gyfaredd iaith.Now then, people! I hope you’ll forgive my attempt to be witty then. I’m a sensible, clever, and polite woman, except when I’m not. I’m not Lady Macbeth nor a woman from the Mabinogi like Arianrhod or Blodeuwedd! I mean only this: what particular specimen of the human race is this? What kind of woman is she? Or perhaps, it would be better to ask: what exactly is the human nature of the person who can fashion the kind of stuff that’s presented in this piece? Don’t forget that I’m laughing at myself here, too. Who is it, in other words, who can weave a web of words and write wondrous things like this, as majestic as the Song of Tefnuth which brought Lushfé back to life, brim-full of beauty and strength? Who, under her own direction, can perform such miracles? What kind of individual can induce other people to feel this way or that by using only inky scribbles on bits of paper which dance in front of the eyes like midges; by whispering only puny breaths of air that tickle the ears for just a moment? But of course, it’s possible that the only answer is to say that one must interrogate the work itself in detail. And here, when I say work, it’s the new life-stories I mean, created through a process of speaking and imagining which’ll lead to development and growth. That is the magic of language.
Gadewch i ni ddwyn cymeriad i gof, felly. Mae hi’n gyffelyb i ryw wraig lên sy’n cael blas ar gymysgu brawddegau byrion, sardonig, â ffraethebion hirach, wedi’u saernïo’n gelfydd. ‘Does mo'i gwell am gadw cyfrinach wrth iddi sôn am fyw, bod yn unig, magu plentyn ar ei phen ei hun, gweithio’n rhy galed o lawer i gyflawni’r gorchwylion oll, a threngi. Mae’i llais, ddywedem ni, yn gyhyrog, a’i hacen yn ein hatgoffa o’i gwreiddiau, nad anghofir byth, ac ar ei synnwyr hiwmor mae blas y pridd, er gwaetha’r amser mae wedi aberthu’n gaethwraig i’r deml hon i’r rhinweddau iachaol a’i thrigolion. Yn ei gwaith pob dydd, mae’n clywed lleisiau fyrdd yn siarad yn ddi-baid. Felly mae’r straeon mae’n eu hadrodd yn llawn pennau’n parablu, gan leisio hen bobl, pobl gyffredin, y rhai wedi’u hanghofio, y colledigion, cymaint â’r ifainc, y bobl brydferth, y cyfoethogion, a’r rhai delfrydyddol.Let us bring a character to mind then. She is similar to some literary woman who’s got a taste for mixing short, sardonic sentences with longer witticisms. artfully fashioned. She’s the soul of discretion whilst talking of living, being lonely, raising a child on her own, working much too hard to complete all her tasks, and perishing. Her voice, we might say, is muscular, and her accent reminds us of her roots, never to be forgotten, and her sense of humour is earthy, despite the time she’s sacrificed as indentured servant to this temple of the healing virtues and its inhabitants. In her every-day work, she hears myriad voices talking ceaselessly. So, the stories she tells are full of talking heads, giving voice to old people, common folk, those who are forgotten, the lost, as much as the young, the beautiful, the wealthy, and the idealistic.
Ac wedyn, ryw’n holi fy hunan: faint o fywyd awdures fydd yn chware rhan yn y darnau mae’n sgrifennu, p’run yw’n ei lico ai peidio, a hyd yn oed os dyw hi’m yn bwriadu sôn amdani’i hunan? O ble mae’i llais yn dod, ei ffordd benodol o siarad? Ac i ba raddau all y pethau mae’n ceisio’u dweud yn ei gwaith ddod i fod yn wahanol i’r rhai fyddwch chi, y derbynyddion, yn clywed? Ife chi, y gynulleidfa, sy’n fydwraig, mewn ffordd o siarad, chi sy’n dwyn synnwyr ac ystyr wrth ryngweithio gyda’r testun? Oes bosibl i ni gyffredinoli? Ddylwn ni geisio gwneud y fath bethau o gwbl?And then, I ask myself: how much of an authoress’s life will play a part in the pieces she writes, whether she likes it or not, and even if she doesn’t intend to speak of herself? From where does her voice come, her specific way of talking? And to what degree can the things she tries to say in her work come to be different from that ones you, the receivers, hear? Is it you, the audience, who’s a midwife, in a manner of speaking, is it you who bring sense and meaning whilst interacting with the text? Is it possible for us to generalize? Should we try to do such things at all?
Fodd bynnag, rhaid i chi ofyn: fydd hi’n traethu straeon sy’n codi o’i phrofiad ei hun, neu’n hytrach ife dim ond eich hudo â’i swyn celfyddydol a wnaiff? Neu, fyddai’n well i chi ddweud, ei dewiniaeth awtistig? Ydy’n wir y bydd rhaid i wraig gloddio lawr i’w chraidd i gysylltu’i hunan â’r byd, neu ddylai hi fod yn ceisio ymestyn tu hwnt i’w ffiniau bob amser? Ife ysmaliwr neu athrylith yw’r storïwr; ydy hi’n gweld yn glir, neu ddim ond honni? Ond eto i gyd, pa bwys ydy i chi? Ta beth, wrth i fantol profiad ogwyddo yn ôl ac ymlaen, mae’n ymddangos bod y cynhyrchydd yn dymuno, yn fwy na dim byd arall yn y Ddau Fyd, reoli llif y traethiad.However, you have to ask: does she narrate stories that arise from her own experience, or rather does she just bewitch you with her artistic charm? Or, would it be better to say, her autistic spells? Is it true that a woman must delve down into her core to connect herself with the world, or should she be trying to reach beyond her boundaries all the time? Is the story-teller a joker or a genius; does she see clearly, or just claim to? But then again, what does it matter to you? Anyway, as the scale of experience oscillates back and forth, it appears that the producer desires, more than anything else in the Two Worlds, to control the flow of the narrative.
Rywbryd, falle, mae’n wir gerddores a meistres ar ei chrefft, sy'n plycio gïau’ch calonnau a chwarae mig gyda’ch emosiynau, wrth ddisgrifio penbleth ac ofn distaw. Ac o ganlyniad, yn aml, fe adewir eich eneidiau’n drwm dan gysgod colled a arhosa am amser maith ar ôl i’r difyrrwch orffen. Ac ymhellach, yn ei rôl fel mam i blant amddifaid, meithrinyddes i oedolion colledig, iachäwr i eneidiau clwyfedig, a santes achosion anobeithiol, bydd rhaid iddi roi sylw i hanesion trist enbyd, ac ar adegau, eu cyfuno â rhai eitha' doniol. Felly, wedi’u hysgubo yn eu blaenau gan ei thrugareddau tirion, fe fydd y côr o leisiau dan ei chyfeiriad, a fyddan nhw’n perthyn i fenywod neu ddynion, ni waeth am eu cefndiroedd na’u safle cymdeithasol, yr hen a’r ifainc fel ei gilydd, yn swnio mor ddilys, mor nerthol, mor felys, mor grac.Sometime, perhaps, she is a true musician, and mistress of her craft, who plucks at your heart-strings and plays hide-and-seek with your emotions, whilst describing confusion and mute fear. And as a result, often, your emotions will be left heavy under a shadow o loss which remains for a long time after the entertainment finishes. And furthermore, in her role as mother to orphans, foster-mother to lost adults, healer of damaged souls, and patron saint of lost causes, she’ll need to attend to terribly sad tales, and, on occasions, unite them with quite funny ones. So, swept along by her tender mercies, the chorus of voices under her direction, whether they belong to women or men, regardless of their backgrounds or their social station, the old and the young alike, will sound so suitable, so powerful, so sweet, so angry.
Ond, serch hynny oll, falle mai hunanaberth yw gwir natur crefft y faethmam, awdures bywydau newydd, ffres (pan fydd yr hud yn gweithio o leia’), ac mai fel hyn yr oedd yn wastad, ac y bydd am byth, hefyd. Ran fwya’r amser bydd hi’n rhoi’r gorau i adrodd ei gwirionedd ei hun i greu lle i’r lleisiau eraill. Pwy a ŵyr, felly, o bosibl drwy’i thwyllo’i hun, fe fydd hi’n rhyddhau’r cymeriadau mae’n eu portreadu neu’u hymgorffori, o staen hoced. A thrwy wneud hyn fe fydd yn cyflawni’r campwaith o drawsnewid alcemegol, gan droi personoliaethau plymaidd yn ysbrydion llachar o aur. Ac wedyn, o safbwynt arall, falle mai ymateb y gynulleidfa, y gohebydd, y gwrandäwr, neu’r claf, yw craidd go iawn y mater, beth bynnag fo’r ystyr a ddychmygir a llunio gan awdures y cyfathrebu. Wedi’r cwbl, nage’r achos pennaf ydy hi, sy’n cychwyn creu o ddim, ond yn hytrach mae’n ddemiwrgos, hynny yw, dirprwy sy’n is-greu gyda’r defnyddiau crai sy’n bodoli’n barod.But, despite all that, perhaps self-sacrifice is the true nature of the nurse-maid, the authoress of fresh, new lives (when the magic works at least), and thus it always was, and will be for ever, too. Most of the time she gives up telling her own truth to create a space for the other voices. Who knows, then, maybe by deceiving herself, she frees the other characters she portrays, or incarnates, from the stain of deceit. And through doing this she achieves the masterwork of alchemical transformation, turning leaden personalities into shining spirits of gold. And then, from another point of view, perhaps the response of the audience, the correspondent, the watcher, or the patient, is the true crux of the matter, whatever is the meaning imagined and fashioned by the authoress of the communication. After all, she is not the first cause, who initiates creation ab-initio, but rather she’s a demiurge, a deputy who sub-creates with the raw materials which already exist.
Wel, chwarae teg, ond beth wedyn? Ar ôl iddyn nhw gael eu gollwng yn rhydd, ddylai meddyliau a byd-olygon newydd sbon (a’r ymenyddiau sy’n eu cynnwys nhw) allu tramwyo’r Ddaear heb lyffethair, yn amddifaid unig, dim ond i edwino oherwydd diffyg maeth? Y broblem sylfaenol yw fod y byd wedi newid yn gymharol ddiweddar. Ers gwawr gwareiddiad y cythreuliaid sy’n rheoli dros fanylion pwysica’ naratif mawr bywyd, gan adael i'r angylion lenwi’r bylchau fyddai’n anesboniadwy fel arall. Ond nawr bod yr awdurdodau ysbrydol, hynafol, fu mor brysur o’r blaen, wedi ffoi, pwy, wedyn, fydd yn gofalu am y syniadau newydd-anedig, sy’n egino o’r hadau wedi’u hau gan y dramodydd, gan dyfu lan ym mhridd ffrwythlon penglogau'n barod i’w derbyn?Well, fair play, but what then? After they are set free, should thoughts and brand-new world-views (and the brains that contain them), be able to roam the Earth without restraint, like lonely orphans, only to wither due to lack of nourishment? The foundational problem is that the world has changed comparatively recently. Since the dawn of civilization, it’s the devils who’ve ruled the most important details of life’s great narrative, leaving the angels to fill in the gaps which would otherwise be inexplicable. But now that the ancient spiritual authorities, who were so busy before, have fled, who, then, will care for the new-born ideas, which sprout from the seeds sown by the dramatist, growing up in the fertile soil of skulls ready to accept them?
Ar y llaw arall, i’r gwrthwyneb, pwy fydd ar fai pan fydd geiriau’n gweithio’n rhy dda, gan fwrw hud na ellir ei wrthsefyll ar y rhai di-asgwrn-cefn fyddan nhw’n cyfarch? Beth am y fath syniadau, fydd yn mynd yn eu blaen dim ond i fwydo’r dychmygion drygnaws sy’n perthyn i loerigion, bygylwyr, a theyrnedd? A dyna oll heb sôn am y geiriau graenus fydd yn taro ar glustiau didostur, ac felly na ddaw o hyd i gartref ysbrydol, fel petaen nhw’n had a syrthiodd ar greigleoedd. Pwy a ŵyr? Dyw neb yn gwybod. Pwy ddylai wybod? Dyw neb yn malio’r un ffeuen. A chyda hynny, yr ydych chi wedi cael rhybudd. Gochelwch, chi ddarlledwyr, gwrandawyr, darllenwyr; chi i gyd sy’n gwirioni ar gynhyrchu a defnyddio geiriau; achos mai dyma ddreigiau’n llechu. P’un o’r ddwy fydd gryfa’ neu galla’, yr un goch neu’r un wen, ffeithiau caled byd profiad sy’n cyfyngu posibiliadau, neu ddychmygion a all gefnogi pob canlyniad heb gyfeirio at ddim byd o bwys? Dyna fydd yn wers i chi’i dysgu ar eich liwt eich hun!On the other hand, on the contrary, who’ll be to blame when words work too well, casting irresistible spells on the spineless ones they greet? What about such ideas, which go on only to feed the malevolent imaginations that belong to madmen, bullies, and despots? And that’s all without mentioning the polished words which hit on merciless ears, and so don’t find a spiritual home, as if they were seed which fell on rocky land. Who knows? No-one knows. Who should know? No-one gives a hoot. And with that, you’ve been warned. Take care, you broadcasters, listeners, readers; all of you who love producing and using words, because here lurk dragons. Which one of the two will be stronger or cleverer, the red one or the white, the hard facts of experience which limit possibilities, or imaginings which can support every outcome without referring to anything of importance? That shall be a lesson for you to learn for yourselves!
Ni waeth befo am yr holl synfyfyrion athronyddol, fe fydd wastad raid dod yn ôl i’r byd go iawn, llawn pethau ymarferol, a phroblemau i’w datrys, ac felly hynny a wna i. Fi fydd yn ennill yma o’r diwedd, wrth gymryd arna i fy mod yn colli, er mod i’n casáu defnyddio’r fath dermau militaraidd. Nage brwydro sy’n llwyddo mewn mynd â’r maen i’r wal wedi’r cyfan. Y ffaith amdani yw mai trwy fod yn hyblyg a phlygu gyda’r gwynt fel corsen, fydda i byth yn cael fy nhorri, tra bydd y lleill yn cael eu chwythu yma a thraw fel dail marw. Fi sy’n tynnu’r llinynnau o’r golwg yn y cefndir, wrth iddyn nhw chwarae’u rhannau penodol gan neidio lan a lawr fel pypedau.Never mind about all the philosophical musings, one must always come back to the real world, full of practical things, and problems to be solved, and so that’s what I shall do. I shall win here in the end, whilst pretending that I’m losing, although I hate using such militaristic terms. It’s not fighting that succeeds in achieving your aims after all. The fact of the matter is that by being flexible and bending with the wind like a reed, I’ll never be broken, whilst the others shall be blown hither and thither like dead leaves. It’s me who’s pulling the strings out of sight in the background, while they play their proper parts, jumping up and down like puppets.
Mae’n hen syniad, y forwyn sydd yn feistres mewn gwirionedd, dim ond rhaid i ni ystyried Nebesh yn gorchymyn i Swtach gyflawni’i erchyllterau yn erbyn Lushfé. Ond, nage fi sy’n sgrifennu’r sgript gyfan, dim ond ysgogi’r actorion a wna i. Ond wrth gwrs, dim ond gweithio er lles yr unigolyn fydda i, wel, wrth ddwyn mewn cof anghenion y Clinig hefyd. Ac yn wir, rydym wedi gweld rhyfeddodau yn y lle ‘ma, fel academydd yn dod yn iachäwr; cyn-filiwr sy bellach yn gwneud hedd; hurtyn sy’n llefaru â thafodau; llanc truenus yn troi’n arwr; a phobl mewn braw’n cwympo mewn cariad. Pwy a feddyliai? Mae rhyw newydd wyrth o hyd.It’s an old idea, the maid who is mistress in truth, one has only to consider Nebesh commanding Swtach to commit his atrocities against Lushfé. But, it’s not me who writes the entire script, I just stir up the actors. But of course, I only work for the good of the individuals, well, whilst bearing in mind the needs of the Clinic too. And indeed, we’ve witnessed wonders in this place, such as an academic becoming a healer; a former soldier who is now making peace; a nitwit who speaks in tongues; a pitiful youth turning into a hero; and scared people falling in love. Who would’ve thought it? Wonders never cease.
A dyma fi ar ddihun ym mherfeddion nos unwaith eto, yn disgwyl y llanciau sy’n peryglu fel arfer. Dyna sut maen nhw’n talu i fi yn ôl am yr help i gyd. Ond er gwaetha’r gwaith caled oll a’r dioddefaint di-baid, fydd na’r byd na’r betws ddim yn sylweddoli mai hanner ohonof fi yw marchog ar farch gwyn yn ymosod ar felinau gwynt fel yn yr hen ddyddiau gynt, a hanner arall athro o’r Hen Lyfrau a aeth ar gefn asyn yn y dyddiau ola’. Fydda i byth yn derbyn gwobr gyhoeddus felly, serch y nosau heb gwsg, a’r aberthau i gyd o ran dynoliaeth. Wel, rhinwedd yw mam pob dedwydd, sbo. A llawn cystal, achos dydw i fawr o un am anrhydeddau na ffwdan a dweud y lleia’, yn wahanol i’m hannwyl frawd i!And here am I awake in the depths of the night once again, waiting for the lads who are adventuring as usual. That’s how they pay me back for all my help. But despite all the hard work and the incessant suffering, neither priest nor politician will realise that I’m half knight on a white charger setting about windmills like in the old days of yore, and another half teacher from the Old Books who went on donkey-back in the last days. So, I’ll never receive a public reward, despite the sleepless nights, and all the sacrifices for humanity. Well, virtue’s its own reward, I suppose. And just as well, as I’m not much of one for honours and fuss to say the least, in contrast to my dear brother!
Ta be’, well ‘da fi fod fy hoff fechgyn mas yn y byd yn cael hwyl nag eu bod nhw’n aros yma fel cŵn bach. Ac mae’n ddefnyddiol iawn pan fyddan nhw’n mynd ar ryw berwyl sbesial o dro i dro. Rwy’n siŵr bod nhw’n meddwl byddan nhw’n achub y byd un dydd, y twpsod ifanc. Ond eto i gyd, fe fydda i’n dal i gofio’r freuddwyd sy’n dod nos ar ôl nos, ac wedyn bydd hi’n gyrru ias i lawr fy nghefn o sylweddoli ‘does dim ots a fyddwn ni’n byw ai marw, o safbwynt y dyfodol pell. A hefyd dyna’r meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant bondigrybwyll ‘na, sy’n dweud taw rhyw farddes enwog ydy o dramor drwy’r amser. O, mae hi wastad yn ymyrryd ac achosi penbleth fel ‘sai hi’n gwybod popeth ac yn meddu ar y lle ar ben ‘ny. A’r holl sôn am dechnegau arloesol wedi’u hysbrydoli gan fodau arallfydol. Myn Hebé! ‘Sdim syndod be’ bynnag, o nabod pwy yw hi, ond pam mae hi wedi dod ‘ma yn awr, fydda i byth yn deall. Ond rhaid i ni ddal ati serch ‘ny. ‘Sdim dewis ‘da ni. Gobeithio bydda i’n gallu cael hoe fach cyn i’r tywysogion golygus ddychwelyd, rwy ar fin marw o ddiffyg cwsg. Dim ond ryw hanner awr a wnâi’r tro. Amser a ddywed.Anyway, I’d prefer that my favourite boys are out in the world having fun than that they stay here like puppy-dogs. And it’s very useful when they do some special errand from time to time. I am sure they think they’ll save the world one day, the young idiots. But then again, I still remember the dream that comes night after night, and then it sends a shiver down my spine to realise it makes no difference whether we live or die, from the viewpoint of the far future. And also, there’s that so-called trainee mentalist, who’s always saying she’s some famous poet from abroad. Oh, she’s always interfering and causing a headache as if she knows everything and owns the place as well. And all the carry-on about innovative techniques inspired by extra-terrestrial beings. By Hebé! No surprise anyway, knowing who she is, but why she’s come here now, I’ll never understand. But one must carry on regardless. We have no choice. I hope I’ll be able to get forty winks before the handsome princes come back, I’m almost dying from lack of sleep. Just half an hour would do. Time will tell.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 19

Pennod Tri ar Hugain: Addysgu (Lleisiau 19) / Educating (Voices 19)

Yn yr un modd â phopeth arall, mae cysgodion yn tyfu, ac maent yn marw hefyd, ond ni allant byth ddianc rhag yr egwyddorion mathemategol sydd yn eu rheoli bob amser. Bydd yr haul yn bwrw cysgodion a newidia’n llwyr trwy gydol y dydd. Bydd hyd cysgod gwrthrych penodol a deflir ar lawr mewn cyfrannedd union âchotangiad ongl godi’r haul o’i chymharu â’r gorwel. Tua chodiad yr haul a machlud haul, gall cysgodion fod yn eithriadol o hir. Os â’r haul yn union uwchben gwrthrych, wedyn y teflir y cysgod yn union oddi tano. Amrywiadau tebyg i’r rhain sydd yn helpu teithwyr i ddilyn y trywydd cywir ers amser maith, yn enwedig mewn rhanbarthau anial. Mae’r haul a’r cysgod yn mynd law yn llaw gyda’n gilydd felly, a phwy all ddweud p’un yw’r pwysicaf o’r ddau pan fydd bywyd yr anturiaethwr yn y fantol mewn gwledydd nas mapiwyd?

In the same way as everything else, shadows grow and the die too, but they can never escape from the mathematical principles which always control them. The sun casts shadows that change throughout the day. The length of a definite object cast on the ground is directly proportional to the cotangent of the sun’s angle of elevation from the horizon. Towards sunrise and sunset, shadows can be exceptionally long. If the sun goes directly above an object, then the shadow is cast directly below. It is variations similar to these which have long helped travellers to follow the correct path, especially in desert regions. The sun and the shadow go hand in hand with each other, therefore, and who can say which one is the more important of the two when the adventurer’s life is in the balance, in uncharted territories?

Roedd y corff dieflig yn gwisgo amdo llwyd o hesian yn debyg i hen sach yn rhyngu arni ar flaen y ‘stafell yn sawru o fechgyn yn eu harddegau, fel rhyw fynach cycyllog, wrth i ffrwd o rwtsh dirgel lifo o’i wefusau mileinig. Yr Hen Filwr oedd enw’r llanciau arno, ac roedd yn pesychu’n ofnadwy, ac wedi bod yn gwneud hyn ers meitin. Roedd gan Dai ryw deimlad plagus ei fod yn nabod yr hen ddyn mewn rhyw ffordd tu hwnt i eiriau, fel ‘sai yntau wedi bod yn gyfaill amheus i’r Dad dyw’m yn gallu cofio ‘chwaith. Ond eto i gyd, roedd y llanc yn credu na ddylai fe’i hun ddim dal ar dir y rhai byw, rhywsut, a taw dim ond cysgod gafaelgar o fyd arall oedd e, a dyna fyddai’n esbonio llawer.The unholy corpse wearing a grey shroud of hessian similar to an old sack was rambling on at the front of the classroom that stank of teenage boys, like some cowled monk, whilst a stream of mysterious nonsense flowed from his vicious lips. The Old Soldier was the lads’ name for him, and he was coughing terribly, and had been doing so for a long time. Dai had some nagging feeling that he knew the old man in some unspeakable way, as if he had been a dodgy friend of the Father he couldn’t remember either. But then again, the lad believed he himself shouldn’t still be alive, somehow, and that he was only a tenacious shadow from another world, and that would explain a lot.
Ond be’ bynnag oedd yr hanes, doedd Dai Baxter ddim yn gwrando, na byddai wedi deall dim byd ‘chwaith, petai fe wedi bod yn clustfeinio’n astud. Roedd capten clwb y misffitiaid, brenin y rhai fyddai byth yn gartrefol yn unman, yn sgwatio’n anghyfforddus ar gadair fechan tu ôl i ddesg yng nghornel bella’r ‘stafell gan geisio cuddio’i ben gyda llawlyfr. Ychydig yn hŷn na’r lliprynnod da-i-ddim eraill yn y dosbarth oedd e, o ran ei, wel ei sefyllfa oedd y gair roeddwn nhw’n ddefnyddio yno, ac roedd e’n perthyn i ryw rywogaeth led ddynol yr oedd aelodau ohoni’n enfawr, blewog, ac anaddysgadwy. Ceffyl blaen yn y ras oedd e i ddod o hyd i wejen neu farw wrth geisio, achos taw dyn go iawn oedd e, arwr o ryw fath, yn ei famwlad, a bod y creithiau dros ei gorff i gyd yn tystio i ‘ny, wel dyna oedd y stori ta be’. Ond fe fyddai’n ofalus iawn, gan fod e mor wrol, fyddai fe’m eisiau chael hi yn y clwb ac yn magu esgyrn bach. Pan fyddai wedi perswadio’r ferch i ildio i’w swynion, hynny yw.But whatever was the tale, Dai Baxter wasn’t listening, nor would he have understood anything either, if he’d been earwigging carefully. The captain of the misfits’ club, the king of those who would never be at home anywhere, was squatting uncomfortably on a tiny chair behind a desk in the furthest corner of the room, trying to hide his head with a text-book. He was a bit older that the other worthless weaklings in the class, because of his, well, his situation was the word they used there, and he belonged to some subhuman species whose members were huge, hairy, and uneducable. He was a front-runner in the race to get a girlfriend or die trying, because he was a real man, a hero of some sort, in his homeland, and the scars over his whole body testified to that, well that was the yarn anyway. But he’d be really careful, as he was so virile, he’d not want to get her up the duff, with a bun in the oven. When he’d persuaded the girl to give in to his charms, that is.
Beth bynnag oedd calcwlws esoterig, a sut yn y Ddau Fyd roedd yn cysylltu â rhifoleg y deuddeg arwydd a hanes y Mab Darogan, ddeallodd e’m o gwbl. Ond hyd yn oed meddwl am y peth oedd digon i’ch gyrru chi o’ch iawn bwyll, yn enwedig yn hwyr ddydd Gwener; heb sôn am yr arteithiwr, yr Hen Procter pigog, maleisus ‘na. Roedd gyda’r dyn cas lais main, treiddiol fethai byth dorri drwy’r awyr fyglyd. Ac roedd e wastad yn hwpo’i law chwith rhwng botymau’i grys llychwin i anwesu’i frest. Wrth i goes Dai fwrw yn erbyn gwaelod ei ddesg simsan oedd ag arwyddion coch, rhyfedd ymhobman drosti, roedd ei gorff yn canolbwyntio ar y poen yn ei ben ôl, wedi’i gondemnio i eistedd am dragwyddoldeb ar sedd o haearn gwynias o ganlyniad i droseddau oll ei fachgendod.Whatever esoteric calculus was, and how in the Two Worlds it was connected to the numerology of the signs of the zodiac and the history of the Son Foretold, he did not understand at all. But even thinking about the thing was enough to drive you out of your mind, especially late on Friday, not to mention the torturer, that spiteful, irritable old Procter. The hateful man had a piercing, shrill voice that would never fail to cut through the stifling air. And he was always shoving his left hand between the buttons of his stained shirt to caress his chest. As Dai’s leg beat against the bottom of the wobbly desk which had strange, red signs everywhere over it, his body concentrated on the pain in his backside, condemned to sit for eternity on a seat of red-hot iron as a result of all his boyhood transgressions.
Dim ond ei olwg ar y glwyd rydlyd ar ben pella’r meysydd sarrug yn hongian yn ddi-gâr ar ei golfachau drylliedig fel ‘sai’n grocbren, oedd yn cynnig y mymryn lleia’ o obaith o ran ffordd mas. Roedd Dai yn ystyried y llwybr yn fanwl, gan dybio fyddai’n arwain ei ymennydd i ebargofiant bendigedig yn gynt ‘sai fe’n syllu arno fe mor galed nes i’w lygaid ffrwydro. Ond, serch ‘ny, allai Dai ddim peidio dychmygu taw’r llwybr o aur tuag at ryddid oedd e, er gwaetha’r ffaith ei fod wedi’i goltario ‘slawer dydd, ond yn llawn tyllau creulon erbyn ‘ny. ‘Naeth e grymu’i gefn mewn rhwystredigaeth yn erbyn y gadair anfaddeugar o galed, a gollwng ochenaid gŵr dan gollfarn.Only his view of the rusty gate at the farthest end of the sullen fields, hanging forlornly on its broken hinges as it if were a gallows, offered the slightest bit of hope in terms of a way out. Dai considered the path in detail, wondering whether it would lead his mind to blessed oblivion sooner if he were to stare at it so hard that his eyes exploded. But despite that, Dai couldn’t stop himself imagining that it was the golden path to freedom, even though it had been tarred over for ages, but was full of cruel holes by then. He arched his back in frustration against the unforgivingly hard chair, and let out the sigh of a condemned man.
‘Chep – chep – chep – chep,’ roedd bysedd y cloc yn symud yn ara’ deg, fel ‘sen nhw’n sgarabau chwyddedig yn cropian yn llygaid yr Haul trwy laid ffrwythlon Maes Brwyn ar lan Afon Dagrau. Ac yno byddan nhw’n brysur hisian eu llafargan chwit-chwat, wrth i’w cefndyr pell, y chwilod chwantus o’r enw croenysorion, luosogi tu mewn i’r celanedd chwerw, gan chwalu’u hesgyrn a llawcio’u cnawd yn chwim. O, Elen, Elen, Elen, y Dywysoges o’r plasty coeth, hir yw pob aros yn wir! Yr un boeriad â Mam sy ‘di mynd ond nad anghofir byth wyt ti, maen nhw’n gweud; a ti’n ferch anhapus, unig ond mor eofn. Dygodd rhyw Foneddiges Ddrwg ei Thad hurt, yr hen wrach, a rhedeg bant gyda fe. Fe ddylet ti ‘mhriodi fi, Sorakados y Tywysog a byw mewn dedwyddwch, a heddwch, a harmoni. Ond paid di glebran mor hyfryd a di-stop am dyfu lan, cymryd cyfrifoldeb, cael gyrfa, ac yn enwedig am gael babis a magu teulu. Dim ond ildia i’n swynion neu bydda i angen bwrw hud arnat ti i ‘neud i ti ‘ngharu i, ond fe fyddwn ni’n cwympo mewn cariad ta be’.‘Chep – chep – chep – chep,’ the hands of the clock were moving very slowly, as if they were bloated scarabs crawling in the direct light of the Sun through the fruitful soil of the Field of Rushes on the bank of the River of Tears. And there they busily hiss their fickle chant, whilst their distant cousins, the wanton beetles called dermestids, multiply within the bitter corpses, shattering their bones and swiftly gobbling their flesh. O, Elen, Elen, Elen, the Princess from the fine mansion, it is always so long to wait! You’re the spitting image of Mam who’s gone but who will never be forgotten, they say, and you’re a lonely, unhappy girl, but so brave. Some Evil Queen stole your foolish father, the old witch, and ran off with him. You should marry me, Sorakados the Prince, and live in bliss, and peace, and harmony. But don’t chatter on so beautifully and non-stop about growing up, taking responsibility, getting a career, and especially about having babies and raising a family. Just yield to my charms or I’ll need to cast a spell on you to make you love me, but we’ll fall in love anyway.
Yn ddisymwth, dyna ddod y byd i ben mewn cawod o sêr llachar a llwch calch, wrth i sychwr bwrdd du brwnt ffrwydro ar ochr pen Dai. “Beth ddiawl wyt ti’n feddwl ti’n ‘neud yn union, y pwdryn? Dim byd, dyna’n amlwg. Mae taten ddrwg ym mhob sach, ac am sinach diog, diffaith wyt ti’n wir! Rwy’n deall fod di dan gysgod dy Dad eto, ac yn y blaen, ond, ‘tawn i’n marw!” Atseiniodd y tonau trwynol, gwael trwy benglog y llanc syfrdan yn ogystal â chwerthin coeglyd y bechgyn ieuengach.Unexpectedly, the world ends in a shower of dazzling stars and chalk dust, as a dirty black-board duster explodes on the side of Dai’s head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, exactly, you idiot? Nothing, that’s obvious. There’s a bad apple in every barrel, and what a worthless, lazy creep you are to be sure! I know you’re under your Father’s shadow still and so on, but, my word!” The terrible, nasal tones reverberated through the stunned lad’s skull, as well as the sarcastic laughter of the younger boys.
‘Naeth Procter godi ar ei draed, gan boeri rhywbeth cas allan i facyn poced ac arno baent coch yn ôl pob golwg. Heb raid dweud, doedd e’m yn debyg i afrewig yn y lleia’, ond yn hytrach fel prif brigyn cloff. Baglu at gefn y ‘stafell ddosbarth ‘naeth e, cyn gostwng ei wyneb nes gallai Dai weld enamel melyn, creithiog ei ddannedd a chlywed gwynt yr hen goffi, a’r ffags, a’r jin neu ryw foddion annymunol ar ei anadl. Roedd rhywbeth bron â phydredig am ei gorff crebachlyd. ‘Naeth Dai wingo yn ei gadair a thynnu’n ôl wrth i’w lygaid grwydro dros yr olygfa enbyd i chwilio’n anobeithiol am ddihangfa. Yr oedd fel ‘sai Procter yn gymysgedd od o sgerbwd a bwgan brain, yn cymryd arno taw Dewin oedd e. Roedd e’n gwisgo gŵn hir oedd wedi bod yn ‘sgarlad ar un adeg, ond oedd yn llwyd ac yn dyllau i gyd erbyn hyn. Roedd e’n edrych fel mwmi drwg o hen ffilm neu lyfr comics arswyd oedd wedi dod yn fyw i sgrechian melltithion mewn iaith annealladwy ar ei ysglyfaeth ddethol, neu’i reibio fe. A ‘naeth Dai eisoes wybod gormod o lawer am hynny o’i brofiadau’i hun.Procter got up on his feet, spitting something nasty out into a pocket handkerchief that had red paint on it by all accounts. Needless to say, he was not in the least like an antelope, but, rather, like a lame stick insect. He stumbled to the back of the classroom, before lowering his face until Dai could see the pitted yellow enamel of his teeth and smell the scent of the old coffee, and the fags, and the gin or some unpleasant medicine on his breath. There was something almost rotten about his wizened body. Dai squirmed on his chair and pulled back as his eyes wandered over the terrible scene to look hopelessly for an escape. It was as if Procter was an odd mixture of skeleton and scare-crow, pretending that he was a Wizard. He was wearing a long gown which had been scarlet at one time, but was grey and full of holes by now. He looked like an evil mummy from an old film or horror comic that had come alive to screech curses in an incomprehensible language at its chosen prey, or to bewitch him. And Dai already knew much too much about that from his own experience.
“Nawr ‘te, dw i ‘di cael llond bol ar y ffwlbri ‘ma. Ynfytyn â’i ben yn y gwynt wyt ti – mor ddi-ddal â cheiliog y gwynt. A dros ‘y nghrogi byddi di ‘ma dan ‘y ngofal am flwyddyn arall ac un arall ‘to. Fe fydda i’n gorfod aros yn y lle uffernol ‘ma dros nos, mwy neu lai, i gywiro papurau arholiad ysgoloriaeth y boneddigions ffroenuchel ‘na o Ysgol Elen Luyddog yr ochr arall i’r Mynydd Gwydr, ddydd Gwener, o bob dydd, a fi mor flinedig â mwnci marw. Wel, ‘achan, byddi di yma hefyd. Meistr pob gwaith yw ymarfer. Fe fyddi di angen copïo’r tabl hir ffurfiau sylfaenol ddoi di o hyd iddo fe ar y daflen fformiwla, a holl restr cyfatebiaethau alcemegol, nes i ti dysgu nhw ar gof. Ac wedyn bydd rhaid i ti drefnu fy nodiadau ar eiriau nerthol o’r Nw Yrth, wyt ti’n deall, fachgen twp, w?”“Now then, I’ve had a gut-full of this nonsense. You’re a moron with his head in the clouds – as fickle as a weather-cock. I’ll be damned if you’re here under my care for another year and then yet another. I’ll have to stay in this hellish place over night, more or less, to mark the scholarship exam papers for those stuck-up toffs from Elen the Valiant School the other side of the Glass Mountain, Friday, of all days, and I’m as tired as a dead monkey. Well, mate, you’ll be staying behind too. One can master any task with practice. You’ll need to copy the long table of fundamental forms you’ll find on the formula sheet, and the whole list of alchemical correspondences, until you learn them by heart. And then you’ll have to put in order my notes on words of power from the Nw Yrth, do you understand, you stupid boy?”
Ond mae meddwl Dai’n crwydro’n waeth nag fel arfer. O Elen, yn annwyl Elen! Ti sy 'di bod yn helpu fi i gofio pethau ar ôl y ddamwain, i ail-adeiladu syniad o pwy dw i. Ti'n darllen ‘yn meddyliau wrth ddarllen adroddiadau i fi am y pethau erchyll 'na oedd yn digwydd dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd pan o'n i'n grwt. Ac wedyn hefyd dangos lluniau i fi sy'n atgoffa fi o'r llefydd a'r bobl; ac am 'y nheulu marw. A nawr dw i'n deall pam mae cymaint o broblemau 'da fi ar hyn o bryd. Mae'n ofnadw' methu nabod pwy wyt ti, ond mae popeth yn dod yn ôl fesul tipyn. Ti'n sylweddoli 'ny ac yn annog i i gael hyd i'n hunan drwy drefnu'r digwyddiadau yng nghefn gwlad i roi ffon yn olwyn y Pwyllgor Cyhoeddus Lleol. O, a hefyd, 'neud yr holl gyfieithu i Ffred Be-di-enw i arddangos yn ochr artistig i. Sa i'n siŵr am achub y Blaned, 'chwaith, t’mod, nac agor yn llygad mewnol, na mynd i chwilio am Garreg Flamel. Ond dim ots am ‘ny, cymaint dw i'n gwerthfawrogi dy gymorth i gyd, ac angen bod yn ŵr i ti, achos fyddi di byth yn gwylltio wrtha i.But Dai’s mind is wandering worse than usual. O Elen, my dear Elen! You who’ve been helping me to remember things after the accident, to rebuild a sense of who I am. You read my mind as you read reports to me about those terrible things that were happening over the Great Grey Sea when I was a kid. And then, also, you show me pictures that remind me of the places and the people, and about my dead family. And now I understand why I have so many problems right now. It’s terrible not knowing who you are, but everything’s coming back bit by bit. You realise that and encourage me to find myself by organising the events in the countryside to get up the nose of the Local Public Committee. Oh, and by doing all the translating for Fred What’s-his-name, to show off my artistic side, as well. I’m not sure about saving the Planet, though, y’know, nor about opening my internal eye, nor going on a quest for Flamel’s Stone. But never mind that, how much I appreciate all your support, and need to be your husband, ‘cos you never get angry with me.
Wel, dim ond os bydda i'n 'neud rhywbeth twp fel siarad am fwrw hud neu welyau hedegog, snecian bant i ymweld â Neuadd y Delweddau ble dw i'n dwlu ar y lluniau, neu ddweud mod i eisiau darllen llyfr comics am sbel. Ond er 'ny, fe fydd popeth yn haws o lawer o ganlyniad, pan fydd rhaid i fi fynd i weld y Dewin rhyfedd 'na bob p'nhawn i sôn am oriau am 'y mywyd wrth iddo fe wrando'n astud a sgriblan nodiadau gan ddweud dim ond 'hmm' nawr ac yn y man. Un peth, wedi gweud 'ny, dw i'n hoff iawn o'r teisennau sbesial, fe fydd e'n rhoi i fi bob amser, achos bod nhw'n 'neud i fi deimlo mor llawen â'r gog. Hmm, llawer gwell ydy, ta be', na'r gwersi 'ma gydag yntau, yr hen gythraul, er mod i'm yn meddwl llawer o'r Neuadd bondigrybwyll yno yn y plasty, ble ‘sdim ond lluniau o hen ddihirod, er bod un ohonyn nhw'n llawer mwy ifanc na'r lleill am ryw reswm. Prin mae'n werth talu sylw arnyn nhw (ac eithrio'r un sy'n debyg i'r Dewin). Ond dw i'n credu taw mor wych yw'r gynau coch, yr hetiau trichorn, a'r hudlathau ac arnyn nhw rwnau o waed maen nhw i gyd yn cario, a bod yn onest. Un dydd, fe allwn i fod yn gwisgo dillad o'r un fath pan briodwn ni, 'nghariad!Well, only if I do something daft like talk about casting spells or flying beds, sneaking off to visit the Hall of the Images where I love the pictures, or saying that I want to read comic-books for a while. But despite that, everything is much easier as a result, when I need to go and see that strange Wizard every afternoon to talk for hours about my life while he listens keenly and scribbles notes, saying only ‘hmm’ every now and then. One thing, having said that, I’m very fond of the special cakes he gives me every time, ‘cos they make me feel as happy as a pig in clover. Hmm, it’s a lot better, anyway, than these lessons with him, the old devil, although I don’t think a lot of the so-called Hall there in the mansion, where there’s nothin’ but pictures of old villains, although one of them’s a lot younger than the rest for some reason. It’s hardly worth paying attention to them (except the one that’s similar to the Wizard). But I think that the red robes, and the tricorn hats, and the magic staves with bloody runes on them that they all carry, are so great, to be honest. One day I could be wearing clothes like that when we get married, my lovely!
Wedyn, ‘naeth y cryts yn y seddau blaen gilwenu unwaith ‘to. Dyna lwyth o wirioniaid llwyr oedden nhw, a gwyryfon bob un ohonyn nhw hefyd! ‘Naeth Dai roncian o’r neilltu o achos yr ergyd, a bu bron iddo gwympo i’r llawr. Ar ôl sadio’i hunan, ‘naeth godi’i war, wrth i’w wrychyn godi ar yr un pryd. ‘Neno Wezir! A sôn am fynd â’r gwynt o’i hwyliau. Byddai’n gwneud llanast o’i gynllun i fynd mas gydag Elen; allai fe ddim cysylltu â hi i roi gwybod iddi hi, dim nawr, be’ bynnag. Roedd hi wedi cynhyrfu’n lân pan oedd e ‘di cwrdd â hi ar bwys y bwthyn y tro diwetha’ i fwynhau ei chwmni (a’r gweddill). Malu awyr am newidiadau ysgubol roedd hi, neu am ‘neud cynlluniau ar gyfer y dyfodol, rhywbeth fel ‘ny, doedd dim ots ‘da fe, doedd e’m yn gwrando ‘chwaith, achos taw dim ond chwant ysol hala cryn amser gyda hi pan allen nhw fod ar eu pennau’u hunain fel petai, oedd arno.Then, the kids in the front seats sneered once again. What a tribe of complete simpletons they were, and virgins too, every one of them! Dai lurched to one side because of the blow, and he almost fell on the floor. After steadying himself, he shrugged his shoulders, whilst his hackles rose at the same time. By Wezir! And talk about taking the wind out of his sails. It would make a mess of his plan to go out with Elen, he couldn’t contact her to let her know, not now, anyway. She’d got very upset when he’d met her near the cottage the last time to enjoy her company (and the rest). Taking nonsense about sweeping changes she was, or about making plans for the future, something like that, he didn’t care, he wasn’t listening either, ‘cos his all-consuming desire was just to spend considerable time with her when they could be on their own.
Elen Luyddog, Meum athamanticum, Helen y Milwr, dyna pwy ydy hi, ‘yn Elen i, a'i gwallt mor llathraidd, yn union fel dail y planhigyn o'r un enw, sy'n tyfu'n orau ymhlith calchfaen a glaswelltir, dan y pinwydd. Dw i 'di darganfod fod e wedi'i gysegru i Baldrog, ysbryd harddwch caotig ar y Nw Yrth, a gaeth ei ladd gan saeth wedi'i 'neud o'i goesynnau wedi'u caledu trwy hud Swtach, o’r enw Defod Amasus. Na galla i byth ddeall y forwyn yn gyfan gwbl, mor wahanol i fi ydy hi, sy’n fwy tebyg i ffrwyth blasus, neu lysieuyn iachus, neu flodyn godidog, nag i greadur anifeilaidd. A fydda i byth yn cael hyd i'r geiriau priodol i'w disgrifio hi, 'chwaith, Unigryw ydy hi, mae hi'n rhywogaeth ynddi'i hunan, aelod o dras sy ddim yn gyffredin yn y wlad 'ma, er bod hi wedi crwydro dros y Ddaear i gyd yn ystod ei bywyd hyd yn hyn o Diroedd y Gorllewin i Diriogaeth y Dwyrain. Falle taw dyna o ble mae’r geiriau dieithr ond swynol fydd hi’n sisial yn ‘y nghlust o bryd i’w gilydd yn dod.Valiant Elen, Meum athamanticum, Helen the Soldier, that’s who she is, my Elen, her hair so glossy, exactly like the plant of the same name, that grows best amongst limestone and grassland, under the pines. I’ve discovered it’s sacred to Baldrog, the spirt of chaotic beauty on the Nw Yrth, who was killed by an arrow made of its stems hardened through Swtach’s magic, called the Amasus Ritual. Nor will I ever be able to understand the maiden fully, so different to me is she, ‘cos she’s more similar to a tasty fruit, or healthy vegetable, or wonderful flower than to a brutish creature. And I’ll never find the appropriate words to describe her, either. She’s unique, she’s a species unto herself, a member of a race that’s not common in this land, although she‘s wandered over all the Earth during her life up to now, from the West-lands to the Eastern Territory. Maybe that’s where the foreign but enchanting words she whispers in my ear from time to time come from.
O, mae hi'n canu'r fath ganeuon, llawn barddoniaeth annealladwy, am fyw, a charu, a threngi, rhywbeth fel, “Dim ond yr un a gâr heb dinc o fariaeth, y rhoddir iddo nerth yn ei awr dduaf.” Ond yn y lle 'ma mae hi bellach wedi plannu'i gwreiddiau'n ddwfn yn y pridd coch, ffrwythlon, i dyfu'n goeden enfawr, gref, fydd yn meithrin y rhai y bydd arnyn nhw'r angen mwya', gan ‘y nghynnwys i. A, mae’i harogl mor berlysiog â gwair newydd ei dorri, fel pan fydd ei bysedd hir fel deiliant pluog yn cyffwrdd â 'nghroen, byddan nhw'n iacháu'n briwiau i gyd. Ac mae’r geiriau sy’n llifo'n gyson o'i gwefusau glân, mor hyfryd a phur achos bod nhw'n enwi pob creadur sy'n bodoli ar wyneb y Blaned heddi' ac esbonio'i bwrpas a'i ffawd. Ac fe allan nhw ryddhau neu rwymo yn unol â glendid calon yr un fydd yn eu datgan, fel y ddiod sanctaidd sy'n perthyn i'r Baldrog colledig.Oh, she sings such songs, full of incomprehensible poetry, about living and loving, and dying, something like, “Only the one who loves without desire, shall be given strength in his darkest hour.” But in this place, she’s now planted her roots deep in the fruitful, red soil, to grow into an enormous, strong tree which shall nourish those who have the greatest need, including me. Ah, her scent is as aromatic as newly-cut grass, so that when her long fingers like feathery foliage touch my skin, they heal all my wounds. And the words that flow constantly from her holy lips are so lovely and pure, because they name every creature that exists on the face of the Earth today and explain its purpose and its fate. And they can release or bind according to the purity of the heart of the one who declares them, like the holy drink that belongs to the lost Baldrog.
Ond yn ôl yn y siambr artaith, roedd yr Hen Filwr yn arteithio’n rhugl. Yr oedd Dai wedi clywed yr holl rwtsh o’r blaen -- hedyn pob drwg yw diogi – bla, bla – fe ddylet ti dorchi dy lewys – mwy o ffiloreg – ni thâl hi ddim i ti sefyll yma’n crafu dy ben ôl drwy’r amser – roedd yn hala fe’n grac. ‘Naeth e gwympo ar draws ei ddesg greithiog, gan felltithio Procter yn enw Wezir, y bwgan hwnnw sy’n rheoli dros yr holl gelfyddydau a gwyddorion dirgel, digalon, dychrynllyd, fel achoseg, afresymegolrwydd, alsoddeg, alcemeg, astroleg, alegori, ac alltudiaeth. Ac yn wir roedd y llanc yn galw ar i’r Meistr Erchyll gosbi’r athro, heb yn wybod iddo. Yn ei gell heb olau a llychlyd, dyna wrando’r un sy’n grwgnach heb stop wrth neb arbennig, am fanion diwerth a diystyr. A dyna fe’n mynd yn fwyfwy cynhyrflyd, a’i lais yn oernadu fel chwiban trên ager, nes i’r cysgodion o’i gwmpas danio mewn fflamau gleision rhewllyd o wybodaeth nas ceisiwyd.But back in the torture-chamber, the Old Soldier was orating fluently. Dai had heard all the nonsense before – laziness is the root of all evil – blah, blah – you should pull your sleeves up – more balderdash – it doesn’t pay to stand there scratching your backside all the time – it sent him crazy. He slumped across his scarred desk, cursing Procter in the name of Wezir, that bogey who rules over all the arts and sciences that are deep, despondent, dreadful, like aetiology, illogicality, algebra, alchemy, astrology, allegory, and exile. And indeed, the lad was invoking the Terrible Master to punish the teacher without knowing it. In his lightless and dusty cell, the one who ceaselessly grumbles to no-one in particular about worthless and meaningless details, is listening. And he gets more and more agitated, his voice howling like a steam-train’s whistle, until the shadows about him ignite in freezing blue flames of unsought-for knowledge.
Felly dyna’r llanc wedi hen flino ar yr holl sothach yn pendwmpian, tra llenwir ei feddwl gan ddelwedd Procter – a’r athro wedi’i wasgu gan werslyfrau, a’i goesau a’i freichiau ar led mewn pwll o hylif porffor, gludiog sy’n llifo allan ohono, ac wedi’i drywanu i farwolaeth â phensiliau ym mheli’r llygaid. Ac mae’r holl olygfa yn llosgi fel mewn un o’r lluniau ardderchog yn Neuadd y Delweddau yn Nhref Aberdydd yn dangos pyllau dyfna’r Nw Yrth yn llawn o waed berwedig a chyrff yn ymdorchi mewn gwewyr o loes. Tân chwilboeth y tro hwn, roedd yn ei weld gyda llygad ei feddwl, sut bynnag, yn hytrach na thafodau gweinion Wezir o fflam sbeitlyd a brathog. A chwap! Dyna’r chwilod croenysol, chwilgar yn casglu ynghyd yn chwareus i dreulio pob gronyn bach o gnawd a chig, gwaed a gewyn. A grillian cythreulig y sgarabau sy’n cyfeilio iddyn nhw’n ddi-dor, ‘chep – chep – chep – chep,’ fel rhyw gloc, a’i bysedd wedi’u camu’n boenus.So, the lad, long tired with all the nonsense, dozes, whilst his mind is filled with images of Procter – the teacher crushed by textbooks, his legs and arms akimbo in a pool of sticky, purple liquid that flows out from him, stabbed to death with pencils in his eyeballs. And the whole vista is burning like in one of the awesome pictures in the Hall of the Images in Aberdydd Town showing the deepest pools of the Nw Yrth full of boiling blood and bodies writhing in pangs of agony. Red-hot fire this time, he was seeing in his mind’s eye, though, rather than Wezir’s weak tongues of spiteful and caustic flame. And whap! There’s the inquisitive, flesh-eating beetles coming together playfully to digest every little morsel of flesh and meat, blood and sinew. And the scarabs’ chirruping accompanies them without stop, ‘chep – chep – chep – chep,’ like some clock whose hands are painfully distorted.
Pan ‘naeth Dai gwpla synfyfyrio, meddwl arall oedd yn crwydro i’w ben dryslyd. Roedd y cwbl yn freuddwyd gwrach wrth ei hewyllys, falle, ond doedd e’m yn barod i roi’r ffidil yn y to eto, ac roedd e mewn hwyliau i roi hi i Procter a setlo fe, a dweud y leia’. Os nad nawr, yn syth ar ôl ‘neud ei benyd, wedyn rywbryd cyn rhy hir, fe fyddai’n troi'r byrddau a dysgu gwers iddo yntau. Wel, nawr ‘te, roedd Dai’n nabod y lle’n burion. Roedd e’n sicr bod yr Hen Filwr yn treulio rhan fwya’r amser yn yr hen blasty erbyn hyn o achos ei salwch. Ond bwthyn bach, budr ar y ‘stad yn y tir fu’n perthyn i’r hen le, oedd ble byddai’n mynd eto ar adegau i gael tipyn bach o lonydd, gan brancio o gwmpas wrth olau lleuad. Doedd e’m yn rhy bell o’r afon ddrewllyd, a ‘naeth Dai benderfynu taw falle gallai fe alw heibio ‘sai fe’n sicrhau’n gynta’ fyddai’r athro ffiaidd ddim gartre’.When Dai finished meditating, there was another thought wandering into his confused head. The whole thing was wishful thinking, perhaps, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet, and he was in the mood to see to Procter and sort him out, to say the least. If not now, straight after doing his penance, then sometime before too long, he’d turn the tables and teach him a lesson. Well, now then, Dai knew the place quite well. He was sure that the Old Soldier spent most of his time in the old mansion by now because of his illness. But a small, dirty cottage on the estate in the grounds that had belonged to the old place, was where he would go still on occasions to have a bit of peace, prancing about by moonlight. It wasn’t too far from the stinking river, and Dai decided that perhaps he could call by if he made sure first that the hateful teacher wasn’t at home.
‘Naeth y syniad o ddial i ddod rywbryd yn y dyfodol roi hwb i’w galon, a ‘naeth Dai ddechrau edrych ‘mlaen at fod yn ellyll bach drwg, ac at beri difrod go iawn i eiddo (os nad i berson) ei boenydiwr. Mewn gwirionedd, y disgybl fyddai’n dod yn athro; ac yn wir fe fyddai’r Hen Filwr yn pesychu, a gwichian, a bwldagu, a bloeddio nes iddo bron â marw pan welai beth fyddai’r llanc wedi ‘neud. Gyda chryn bleser cerfiodd Dai arwydd grymoedd y gwrthryfelwyr drosodd a throsodd ar y ddesg mewn inc coch.The idea of revenge to come sometime in the future perked him up, and Dai began to look forward to being a naughty little imp, and causing real damage to the property (if not the person) of his persecutor. In truth, the pupil would become the teacher, and indeed the Old Soldier would cough, and squeal, and splutter, and shout until he almost died, when he saw what the lad had done. With considerable pleasure Dai carved the sign of the rebel forces over and over on the desk in red ink.
Stezza, partner paffio Dai ers cwpl o flynyddoedd, ddylai fod yn barod i’w helpu – ‘sai fe’m wedi cael ei ladd erbyn hynny. Tarw swmpus oedd e, gyda’i gyhyrau enfawr. Ac er ei fod yn ddeallus iawn o ran theorïau astrus a chysyniadau anghredadwy, nage’r un blewyn o synnwyr cyffredin oedd gan yr hwlcyn delfrydol ‘na. Fe allai fod wedi bod yn chwilyswr da ofnadw’, heb os, achos fod e’n ddigon twp, a chryf, a selog. Ond yn lle ‘ny roedd e’n breuddwydio am gymryd urddau’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ac wedyn gwaedu’r Ddaear rhag staen drygioni, wedi’i anogi gan yr athro atgas, ei Wncwl John. Hmm, erbyn meddwl am bethau am sbel, byddai Stezza’n defnyddio’r llysenw Hen Filwr Llwyd ar y diawl crachlyd bob tro ‘fyd. Reit, dyna’r peth mwya’ pwysig, meddyliai Dai gan ystyried popeth oedd ar y gweill. Fe allai Stevo fod yn aberth dynol ‘sai unrhyw beth yn mynd o'i le ar y cynllun cyfrwys. Ond, rhaid cyfadde’: on’d oedd e’n gallu tynnu cartwnau gwych!Stezza, Dai’s sparring-partner for a couple of years, should be ready to help – if he’d not been killed by then. He was a bulky bull, what with his enormous muscles. And although he was very intelligent with abstruse theories and unbelievable concepts, the idealistic lout possessed not the least inkling of common sense. He could have been an awfully good inquisitor, without a doubt, as he was stupid, and strong, and zealous enough. But instead of that he dreamt of taking holy orders in the World-Wide Church and then ridding the Earth of the stain of evil, encouraged by the hateful teacher, his Uncle John. Hmm, thinking about things for a while, Stezza always used to use the nickname Old Holy Warrior for the scabby devil, too. Right, that’s the most important thing, thought Dai, considering everything that was in the pipe-line. Stevo could be a human sacrifice if anything went wrong with the cunning plan. But he had to admit: he couldn’t half draw great cartoons!
Ychydig a wyddai Dai beth fyddai’n digwydd yn nes ymlaen, dim ond sawl wythnos yn y dyfodol, o ganlyniad i’w bensynnu, neu, efallai, er ei waetha’. Ond cyn hynny oll roedd y gwyliau hir yn galw ar Dai, a Stevo, ac Elen, Elen, Elen, O! Fe fyddai mwy o’r partïon dawns rhydd i’w trefnu, a disgiau i’w troelli, a charu i’w ‘neud, a chariad i’w ledu – a sylweddau sbesial i’w gwerthu, a’u llyncu! Ac o bosib byddai Stevo’n dod yn ased gwerthfawr yn y frwydr dros ryddid mynegiant, fel gwrthgiliwr a wyddai gyfrinachau’r ochr arall. O ble daeth yr holl syniadau ‘ma, a’r egni i’w cyflawni nhw? Doedd y llanc ddim yn siŵr. Roedd fel ‘sai rhannau amgen i bersonoliaeth Dai, lleisiau’n galwn arno fe, fel ‘sai pobl hollol wahanol yn llechu tu mewn i’w gorff, neu’i feddwl. Ond paid becso am ‘ny, roedd rhyddid a haf llawn serch yn aros. Ar ôl noswaith o ddiflastod, wrth gwrs, yng nghwmni’r dyn pesychlyd, esgyrnog. A dyna oedd Dai'n consurio drychiolaethau, wrth wanu blaen ei fawd gyda chwmpas miniog a danjerus.Little did Dai know what would happen later on, only a few weeks in the future, because of his day-dreaming, or, perhaps, despite it. But before all that, the long holidays were calling on Dai, and Stevo, and Elen, Elen, Elen, Oh! There would be more free dance parties to be arranged, and discs to be spun, and loving to be done, and love to be spread – and special substances to be sold, and imbibed! And, possibly, Stevo himself might become a valuable asset in the fight for freedom of expression, like a defector who knew the other side’s secrets. Where did all these ideas come from, and the energy to carry them out? The lad wasn't sure. It was as if there were different parts to Dai’s personality, voices calling to him, as if there were totally different people lurking inside his body, or his mind. But no worries about that, freedom and a summer full of love awaited. After an evening of misery, of course, in the company of the skeletal, coughing man. And there was Dai, conjuring phantasms, whilst piercing the tip of his thumb with a sharp and dangerous pair of compasses.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 20

Pennod Pedwar ar Hugain: Cynllwynio (Lleisiau 20) / Scheming (Voices 20)

Simsan pob ffurf. Er mai solet ydy ar yr wyneb, mor anfaterol â chysgod yw realiti erbyn edrych yn ddyfnach. Pan archwiliwn ni fwyfwy i wir strwythur gwrthrychau corfforol, fe ddarganfyddwn nad ydynt yn bodoli yn yr un modd y’u clywn yn y byd beunyddiol. Mae popeth yn cynnwys lle gwag wedi’i lenwi â meysydd, a grymoedd, a gronynnau dirgrynol wedi’u disgrifio gan tonffwythiannau tebygoliaethol. Beth, felly, yw natur bywyd dynol; oes ystyr i feddwl, meddu, teimlo, caru; sut y dylai dyn ystyried bodolaeth wedi’i chorffori, pan ymddengys nad ydym yn fwy na chydadwaith cyson golau a thywyllwch? Ni allwn ni fod yn ni’n hunain, hyd yn oed, heb bobl eraill, sy’n creu gwe amryliw, aml-weadol, a chymhleth o wahaniaethau, y tyfwn ni i fod yn rhan ohoni gan adeiladu ein personoliaethau. Mae’n digwydd mai rhwng cael ein geni a marw, llenwir ni â lleisiau dieithr sydd yn dod yn rhan anwahanadwy ohonom. Nyni yw’r cymysgedd hwn o dafodau baldorddus a ddarlledir yn ddi-stŵr i’r cyfanfyd ar ffurf tonnau pelydriad electromagnetig braidd na ellir eu canfod wrth inni fyw. Ond beth yw ffawd y llif damweiniol hwn o wybodaeth a anfonwyd allan eisoes, pan dawdd ein cyrff cnawdol o’r diwedd?

All forms are unstable. Although it is solid on the surface, reality is as immaterial as a shadow when one looks deeper. When we investigate more and more into the structure of physical objects, we discover that they do not exist in the same way that we sense them in the everyday world. Everything consists of empty space filled with fields, and forces, and oscillating particles, described by probabilistic wave-functions. What, therefore, is the nature of human life; is there any meaning to thinking, possessing, feeling, loving; how should one consider embodied existence when it appears that we are no more than the constant interplay of light and darkness? We cannot be ourselves, even, without other people, who create a complex multi-coloured, multi-textured web of differences of which we grow to be a part, developing our personalities. It happens that between being born and dying, we are filled with strange voices that become an inseparable part of us. We are this mélange of babbling tongues which is broadcast silently to the cosmos in the form of waves of scarcely detectable electromagnetic radiation whilst we live. But what is the fate of this haphazard stream of information which has already been sent out, when our fleshy bodies dissolve in the end?

Ar ei orsedd, eistedd Hen Filwr, a fynnai fod yn Ddewin, yn marw. Neu’n hytrach, yn disgwyl yr amser penodedig pan fydd bywyd yn trawsnewid o’r naill ffurf i’r llall yn y wlad honno lle mae dŵr yn dawnsio wrth i adar siaradus gynorthwyo’r arwr a â ar drywydd afalau sy’n canu. Fe’i gwasanaethir gan dri gweinydd anghymodlon a gwyllt eu tymer, ac o bosibl y gallem eu galw’n Amheuaeth, Anobaith, a Mileindra. Perffaith pob triawd, yn ôl y sôn, ond mae’r criw hwn yn debycach i dri chyff gwawd nag i’r tair Tynged, ac yn ddiamau, maent yn poeni’n fwy am waed, a chwys, a dagrau, nag am fywyd, rhyddid, a’r ymchwil am ddedwyddwch. Yn y cyfamser, mae dau acolit diarwybod yr Hen Filwr, Anffyddlon ac Ynfyd, yn dod adref, wedi mynd ar y sbri mewn parti rhydd, ond, heb yn wybod iddynt, dim ond gohirio’r ffawd a bennwyd iddynt a wnânt. Fe fydd eu cyfarfod rhagordeiniedig gyda thynged yn anochel. Wedi’r cwbl, “Os un fydd farw, pawb fydd fyw; A achub ef holl ddynolryw?” medd y cwpled profoclyd gan Mamrick.On his throne, an Old Soldier, who would be a Wizard, sits dying. Or rather, awaiting the appointed time when life transforms from one form to another in that land where water dances whilst talkative birds help the hero on his quest for singing apples. He is attended by three irreconcilable and irascible ministers whom we might dub Doubt, Despair, and Spitefulness. All triads are perfect, apparently, but this shower’s more like three stooges than the three Fates, and they are certainly more concerned about blood, and sweat, and tears, than with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Meanwhile, the Old Soldier’s two unwitting acolytes, Faithless and Foolish, are coming home after gallivanting about at a free party, but, unbeknownst to them, they are merely postponing the fate which has been appointed for them. Their pre-ordained date with destiny is unavoidable. After all, "When one man dies, then all survive; Through him will human-kind all thrive?" says the tantalising couplet by Mamrick.
Y mae gan yr Hen Filwr ar ei derfyn faterion tra phwysig i’w trin – ar ei ran ef ei hun ac ar gyfer dynoliaeth oll – oni iddo gael llonydd gyda’r botel o jin amhrisiadwy, a’r casgliad anferthol o bils, a phowdrau, a diodydd, ynghyd â’r teclynnau priodol eraill. Ac am y gallai gofio neu ddychmygu’r hyn a olygid. Yn enwedig meddwl am y geiriau cywir. Eithr dim ond y llinellau, "Nid marw’r fath beth a all huno am hydoedd; A’r Angau Glas drengo ar ben dirgel oesoedd" sydd yn gwatwarus redeg trwy’i feddwl dryslyd. Dyma ddinistr a gelyniaeth ddilafar yn baeddu’r awyr ddrewllyd, wrth i gyrbibion o sgwrs sbeitlyd gael eu saethu’n benrhydd fel dartiau gwenwynllyd rhwng y tri pherson digariad a rhwystredig. Mae’r sylwadau pigog yn argraffu’u hunain ar enaid y lle fel rhyw fath o ffotograff Kirlianaidd, hagr. A pa eiriau doethineb sydd yn cyfeilio i’r holl olygfa alaethus? Wel, dim byd ond deialog dryslyd o ‘Melltith Beddrod y Sombi’ neu ‘Fe Gerddwn i gyda Mwmi’, neu ryw ffilm debyg gan y cyfarwyddwr anadnabyddus o’r enw Siôn Llwynlesg, yr ymddengys ei fod yn llifo ar ddolen ddiddiwedd o’r lantar wedi mynd a’i phen iddi sy’n llechu yng nghornel siambr y claf.The expiring Old Soldier has matters of great import to attend to – for himself and all of humanity -- if only he were to be left in peace with the bottle of priceless gin, and the stupendous collection of pills, and powders, and potions, together with the other appropriate tools. And if only he could remember or imagine, what would be required. Especially think of the correct words. But only the lines, "That is not dead which can eternal lie; And with strange aeons even death may die" run mocking through his troubled mind. Doom and unspoken hostility befoul the foetid air, as fragments of spiteful conversation are fired convulsively like poisoned darts between the three loveless and frustrated persons. The barbed comments imprint themselves on the psyche of the place like some ugly Kirlian photograph. And what words of wisdom are accompanying the whole sorry scene? Well, nothing but garbled dialogue from “The Curse of the Zombie’s Tomb” or “I Walked with a Mummy’ or suchlike film by the little-known director Siôn Llwynlesg, which appears to be streaming on an infinite loop from the clapped-out google-box that squats in the corner of the invalid’s chamber.
“Wel, dyna fe te, mae’r hen ddyn wedi dweud bydda i’n gallu dod â’r fan pan fydd dy hoff garcharor, neu dylai hynny fod dy unig glaf go iawn wedi dod ‘nôl y pnawn ma. Be yw’i enw e, David? Yr un sy’n meddwl fod e’n arwr rhyfel o wledydd pell, ta be. Llanc o’i gof, er gwaetha’i sgriblan i gyd, a chyfieithu, a bod yn droellwr disgiau, ac achub y byd, ac ati. Neud synnwyr, achos bydda i’n chael hi pan aiff e ta p’un i. Dyw fawr o werth, yr hen gruglwyth o sgrap, wael ei gyflwr. Fe wedodd e’n reit blaen wrtha i gynnau fach. Yn syth yn y nghlust i wrth i fi blygio drosto fo, gan sychu’i dalcen oer a thamp. Ti naeth glywed e, on’d ife?”“Well, that’s it then, the old man’s said I can take the van when your favourite inmate, or should that be your one-and-only real patient, gets back this afternoon. What’s his name, David? The one that thinks he’s a war hero from foreign parts, anyway. Nutter, despite all his scribbling, and translating, and DJ-ing, and saving the world, and what-not. Makes sense as I’ll be getting it when he goes anyway. For what it’s worth, the old, dilapidated heap of junk. He said it quite plainly to me right now. Right in my ear as I was leaning over him, mopping his clammy brow. You heard him, didn’t you?”
“Ie, ie, mae o’n iawn, mi ddwedodd yr hen ddiawl gwirion gallai fo ddod â hi, waeth gen i amdani, dw i’m yn gyrru, diolch yn fawr i chi. Mi rwy’n medru, ond yn dewis peidio, a bod yn onest. Tasg i ddyn ydy gyrru. Brwnt, swnllyd, a danjerus. Mi rwyf fi’n ffieiddio’r holl nwyon gwacáu, ac oglau diesel. Nid y math o beth y dylai darpar feddyliaethydd megis mi sydd yn ymgymryd â hyfforddiant mewn swydd fod yn ei wneud. A fan wen, pa mor ddi-chwaeth ydy honno? Mi rwyf wedi ennill y radd o Feistr yn y Gwyddorau mewn Astudiaethau Technegol o Boly-ysgol Aberdydd. Beth bynnag, mi a fydd yn derbyn y siârs naeth o fuddsoddi ynddyn nhw rai blynyddoedd yn ôl. Y rhai ar gyfer y fferm foch ar y Cyfandir Deheuol. Addo nhw i mi naeth o pan naeth o brynu’r warchodfa lamaod i mi, i fyny yn y gogledd. Pan ga i’n arian falla af fi draw fan’co i gael cip ar y cenawon bach. Pert ar y diawl y gwichwyr bychain na. Mae’r lle’n enfawr, ac maen nhw’n neud yn eithriadol o dda bellach, y ffermwyr dw i’n meddwl, gan droi cig mochyn allan i’w ddefnyddio mewn chop-suey ledled y byd. Ac mi fydd yn rhaid i mi fynd ar wyliau hir pan fydd yr holl lanast ma wedi dod i ben.”“Yeah, yeah, he’s right, the silly old devil said he could take it, I can’t be bothered with it, I don’t drive, thank you very much. I can do, but I choose not to, to be honest. Driving’s a man’s job. Dirty, noisy, and dangerous. I abhor all those exhaust gases, and the smell of diesel. Not the kind of thing that a prospective mentalist like me who’s undertaking on-the-job training should be doing. And a white van, how vulgar is that? I have a Master of Science degree in Technical Studies. From Aberdydd Polyversity. Anyway, I’m getting the shares he invested in a few years ago. The ones for the pig-farm on the Southern Continent. Promised me them when he bought me the lama reserve up in the north. When I get my money, I might go over there to have a look at the little blighters. Cute as hell them little squealers. The place is vast and they’re doing exceptionally well now, the farmers I mean, churning out pork for use in chop-suey all over the world. And I’ll be needing a long holiday once all this mess is over.”
“O, da iawn ti, cariad, y moch, wel, fyddwn i ddim wedi gallu dyfalu ny! Nawr edrycha, dw i’n gwybod taw dim ond sawl gwaith ti di medru dod i lawr ma yn ystod y cyfnod mae e di bod yn gorwedd ar farw. Wrth gwrs nad dy broblem di ydy, rhwng y gwaith, d’elusennau di, dy ddarpar faban bach, y – beth ddylwn i ddweud – cariadfab newydd wrth gwrs, a’r gweithgareddau hanfodol eraill sy’n codi’n naturiol mewn bywyd pob dydd meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant, neu farddes, neu be bynnag, fel y gwyliau dirybudd i’r Bahamas. Ond mewn gwirionedd dw i ddim yn meddwl dylet ti fod yn sôn amdano fe fel ny wrth iddo fe eistedd yna’n nychu. Nage’r peth iawn i’w wneud ydy o gwbl. Dyw e ddim wedi ymadael eto, t’mod. Ta be, fi sy di bod yn gofalu amdano fe ers achau. Prin ein bod ni’n gweld yr un ohonoch chi. Ac ar ben ny, be am yr ewyllys?”“Oh, good for you, love, the pigs, well, I wouldn’t have been able to guess that! Now look, I know you’ve only been able to get down here a few times in the period he’s been lying dying. Of course, it’s not your fault, what with your work, your charities, your prospective little baby, the – what should I say – new suitor, of course, and all the other crucial activities that pop up naturally in the every-day life of a trainee mentalist, or poetess, or whatever, like the unexpected holidays to the Bahamas. But I really don’t think you should be talking like that about him with him sits there, expiring. It’s just not the right thing to do. He’s not departed yet you know. Anyway, I’m the one who’s been caring for him all this time. We hardly ever see either of you. And on top of that, what about the will?”
“O, ddynes annwyl, faswn i ddim yn pryderu ynghylch hynny. Mi rydw i’n sicr fod o wedi trefnu popeth, sut allwn ni ddweud – ‘yn briodol’? Mi gewch chi weld. Mi rwy’n dychmygu bydd pawb yn cael eu ‘haeddiant teilwng’ maes o law. O, beth mae’r hen fwngrel, drewllyd, ofnadw na’n neud yn fan’ma. Mae o’n neud i’r holl le arogli’n ddrwg a slobran dros bob man. Mor fudr ydy.”“Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m certain he’s sorted everything out, how can we say – ‘appropriately’? You just wait and see. I imagine everyone’ll get their ‘just deserts’ in due course. Oh, what’s that awful, smelly, old mongrel doing in here. It’s stinking the whole place out and slobbering everywhere. It’s so unhygienic.”
“Hym! Dyna hen ddigon ar yr holl ‘gwraig annwyl’ gen ti, ‘Flodyn Tatws’, diolch yn fawr iawn i ti. A beidiwch â sôn am yr hen Swt fel ny. Y mabi mawr i ydy, wel, yr un arall be bynnag. Mae e fel duw o gwmpas y lle ma. Patrolio’r wal derfyn, cadw’r chwilod a’r rodnis mas. Sdim syndod fod e’n casáu Dai, rhwng yr holl gerddoriaeth uchel, a’r udo ar y lleuad. Wel mae e wedi gadael ei hun i lawr heddi, gan adael i chi ill dau ddod i mewn, on’d ydy? Myn Hebé, dyna’r ffôn. Pryd fydd hi’n stopio rownd fan’yn? Yn hoff wirion Dai heb os. Meddwl taw proffwyd oes newydd cerddoriaeth farwhun ydy i goroni’r cwbl. Wedi mynd bant ar berwyl pwysig pwysig i weld aelodau’r Pwyllgor ch’mod. Gobeithio na fydd trafferth gyda’r heddlu’r tro hwn. Wel, dw i’n gweld bod y ddau ohonoch chi eisoes wedi neud eich hunain yn ddigon cysurus. Peidiwch symud gewyn. Fe fydd mwy i’w ddweud ar y materion ma ar fyr o amser.”“Hmph! That’s quite enough of all that ‘my-dearing,’ from you, ‘Dearest Girl,’ thanks very much. And don’t you talk about old Swt like that. He’s my big baby, well, the other one anyway. He’s like a god about this place. Patrolling the perimeter, keeping the beetles and riff-raff out. No wonder he hates Dai, what with all that loud music, and howling at the moon. Well, he’s let himself down today letting you two in, hasn’t he? In Hebé’s name, there’s the phone. When will it stop around here? My favourite simpleton Dai no doubt. Thinks he’s the prophet of the new age of trance music to crown it all. He’s gone off on very important business to see the members of the Committee you know. I hope there won’t be trouble with the police this time. Well, I see you’ve both made yourselves comfortable enough already. Don’t move a muscle. There’ll be more to say about these matters shortly.”
“Helo! A, reit, yr Arglwyddes Macbeth at Sowldiwr Bach. Ydw, dw i’n gwybod taw toriad gwawr ydy. Fe wedes i wrthot ti am alw’n gynnar iawn. Na, na, cadw dy lais i lawr, nei di? Mae Elen Fannog a’r Minotor yma ar hyn o bryd. Ust! Nagw, dw i’m eisiau clywed am broblemau’r Ficing gyda’r plymwaith. Llid y bledren ti’n weud? Mae e’n wlychu’i hun drwy’r amser, ydy? Ach a fi! Bydd yn rhaid iddo fe fynd i’r Clinig i gael ei drin. Be ar y Nw Yrth mae e di bod yn neud? Taw te, fe fydd e’n iawn yn y pendraw, ac mae na sefyllfa’n datblygu ma! Nebesh mawr, cwympodd y Ficing oddi ar ei fotor-beic? Unwaith to? Bwrw ei ben yn erbyn carreg, ife? Ti oedd ar fai? Ar ôl bwyta madarch? Trio ymosod arnat ti? Gwaed ym mhob man? Tithau hefyd? Cyfergyd? Hunllefau? Gweledigaethau? Siarad â bodau arallfydol? Ddim yn gallu cofio? Eisiau boddi ei hun? Pam yn y Ddau Fyd? Problemau gyda’r gariad? Wel dim newid yno. Ti oedd yn achub e? Mor iach â chricsyn bellach? Wel, hwrê, husâ, a diolch byth am ny! Ta be, ddylet ti ddim bod ar y ffôn wrth yrru. Cofia di’r ddirwy a’r pwyntiau ar dy drywydd di. Ac wyt ti’n yrrwr digon gwael ar y gorau. Be, ti di troi i mewn i gilfach barcio? A’r Ficing sy’n dreifio achos fod di’n chwil gaib racs ar ... be ... neithdar synthetig? O, gadwo i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd eich cipio chi ill dau, a’ch dwyn chi ymaith!...“Hello! Ah, right. Lady Macbeth to Boy Soldier. Yes, I know it’s the crack of dawn. I said to call really early. No, no, keep your voice down, will you? Helen of Troy and the Minotaur are here right now. Hush! No I don’t want to hear about the Viking’s problems with the plumbing. Cystitis you say? He’s wetting himself all the time, is he? Yuck! He’ll have to go to the Clinic and get himself seen to. What on the Nw Yrth’s he been up to? Shush now, he’ll be fine in the end, and there’s a situation developing here! Great Nebesh, what, the Viking fell off his motor-bike. Again? Hit his head against a rock, is it? Your fault? Eaten mushrooms? Tried to attack you? Blood everywhere? You too? Concussion? Nightmares? Visions? Talking to aliens? Can’t remember? Wants to drown himself? Why in the Two Worlds? Problems with the lover? Well, no change there. You saved him? Right as rain now? Well, hooray, hoorah, and thank goodness for that! Anyway, you shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving. Think of the fine, and the points on your licence. And you’re a bad enough driver at the best of times. What, you’re pulled in a lay-by? And the Viking’s diving as you’re off your face on … what … synthetic nectar? Oh, may the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers seize you both and carry you away!...
“…Edrycha nawr, rhaid i fi siarad yn dawel bach, mae’r ddau ny, Cruella a’r Cribiniwr Crebachlyd yn hofran yn y stafell ginio. Sarhau, cam-drin, ac ymelwa, dyna’r unig bethau maen nhw’n gallu neud yn dda. Gwranda di, fe fydda i angen dy help. Mae’r Daliwr Plant a Trunchbull yn honni fod e wedi gweud taw nhw fydd yn cael popeth. Popeth! Dychmyga di, y lleban na gyda’r clustiau rwberaidd na a’r trwyn na fel trwnc Dumbo. Ac mae e eisiau’r fan na. Heddi. Cywilydd o beth! Ydy, wrth gwrs fod e’n mynd i yrru bant ynddi hi. Sut arall fydd e’n mynd i fynd â hi?...“Look, now, I’ve got to keep my voice down, those two, Cruella and the Grinch, are hovering about in the dining room. Insult, mistreat, and exploit, those’re the only things they can do well. Listen, I’ll need your help. The Child-Catcher and Trunchbull are claiming he’s said they’ll get everything. Everything! Imagine, that lout, with those rubbery ears and that nose like Dumbo’s trunk. And he wants that van. Today. Shameful! Yes, just drive off with it. How else is he going to take it?...
“…Ac maen nhw’n gweud bydd e’n gadael popeth iddyn nhw. Popeth! Ie, y moch drewllyd. Dw i’m yn golygu nhw, y fferm foch dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd dw i’n meddwl. Siârs. Ond popeth arall hefyd. Ein plasty oer, adfeiliog, hyfryd ni, ble dyn ni’n byw! A’r peth ffiaidd na, fel pyramid, mae wedi gadw bob tro yn seler y bwthyn gyda’r dolis clwt ofnadw ‘na sy’n edrych fel chi ill dau, a’r sach hesian lawn cyllyll rhydlyd. Dw i wastad wedi gasáu fe, y sigwrat neu beth bynnag a fo, ond mae’n llawn dop o wst-ti-be, sbeis, llaeth mwnci. Paid gweud wrtha i do’t ti’m yn gwybod. Mae’n stwff anhygoel, agos yn arallfydol. Amhrisiadwy. Dw i’n gwybod bod dy wenwyn di’n rhywbeth arall ond sdim ots am ny. Pawb at y beth y bo. Fe fydd yn rhaid i fi gael gwared arno fe, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, cyn iddyn nhw gael eu dwylo blewog arno fe a dechrau chwarae gyda fe, a ffureta ym mhob man. Ti fydd yn gorfod i’n helpu fii…“…And they’re saying he’s leaving it all to them. Everything! Yes, the stinking pigs. No, I don’t mean them, it’s the pig-farm across the Great Grey Sea I mean. Shares. But everything else too. Our lovely, crumbling, cold mansion, where we live! And that vile pyramid-like thing that he’s always kept in the cellar of the cottage with those horrible rag-dolls that look like you two, and the hessian sack full of rusty knives. I’ve always detested it, the ziggurat or whatever it is, but it’s full of you-know-what, spice, mother’s ruin. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. It’s incredible stuff, almost out-of-this-world. Priceless. I know your poison is something different but never mind about that. Each to his own. I’m going to have to get it out of the way, somehow, before they get their thieving hands on it and start messing about and sticking their noses in everywhere. You’ll have to help me…
“…Be, mae’r Ficing wedi mynd yn sownd ar weiren bigog? Swtach! Mae angen llaw gadarn ar y llanc na. Dw i’n difaru fagu fe ar y mhen yn hunan nawr. Rôdd e’n ddyn eitha neis, ei dad e, ar yr wyneb, rôdd e’n ddigyffro a thawel, a da i ddim. Rôdd y moelni’n neud iddo fe edrych yn eitha aeddfed, dw i’n credu. Ddim yn anneniadol, a bod yn onest, o rywun sy’n gweithio fel, beth ôdd e, llawfeddyg y geg sy'n teithio o gwmpas y byd? Swn i wedi bod yn ugain mlynedd yn ieuengach … Be? Sut feiddi di siarad gyda dy hynafiaid di fel na! A finnau’n hen wraig lesg, fyd. Ta be, swn i yno fe fyddwn i’n rhoi weiren bigog i’r ddau ohonoch chi, rownd y pennau! Chi di mynd yn glwc drwy’r holl rafio, a’r cyffuriau, a’r gweddill. Sôn am ddynion gwallgof, dych chi di colli arni. Fe fydd eich bywydau’n annymunol, anwar, a byr, i sicrwydd. A chi ill dau’n honni taw rhyw fath o ryfelwyr dros gyfiawnder cymdeithasol dych chi. Nage Eneiniog yr Hen Feistri mo ti, t’mod, f’achan! Aros di funud, dw i’n cael y ngalw…”“…What? The Viking’s got stuck on barbed wire? Swtach! That lad needs a firm hand. I’m regretting bringing him up alone now you know. He was quite a nice man, his father, on the surface, he was calm and quiet, and good for nothing. The baldness made him look quite mature, I think. Not unattractive really, for some who works as, what was it, an oral surgeon who travels around the world? If I’d been twenty years younger... What? How dare you speak to your elders like that! And me a frail old lady, too. Anyway, if I was there I’d give you both barbed wire, around your heads! You’ve addled your brains with all that raving, and the drugs, and the rest. Talk about mental cases, you’ve lost it. Your lives’ll be nasty, brutish, and short, for sure. And you two claim to be some kind of social justice warriors! You’re not the Old Masters’ Anointed One, y’know, my lad! Hang on, hang on, I’m being summoned.”
“O, helô, dyna chi. Hoffwn, hoffwn ni ill dau baned arall o de, os gwelwch chi’n dda. Mae mor uffernol o boeth yn fan’ma rhwng yr holl offer meddygol yn pwmpio a sugno. Gwaeth nag Anialdir y Dwyrain. A dyna’r trychfilod gwrthun ym mhobman. Ddim yn medru’u gweld nhw ond dyna’r chep-er, chep-er, chep-er cyfoglyd na drwy’r amser. Brwnt, dyna sut mae hi yma. Mae’r pinwydd peryglus, ofnadwy yn hanogi nhw, mi rwy’n sicr. Mi ddylai’r holl le gael ei gau. Mi fyddwn i’n losgi fo i lawr petaswn i’n cael hanner cyfle. Sdim cleifion go iawn ychwaith, ond David lloerig a’r hen ddihiryn trist ma o filwr wedi troi’n athro…“Oh hello, there you are. Yes, we’d both like another cup of tea if you’d be so kind. It’s so damned hot in here what with all this equipment pumping and sucking. Worse that the Eastern Desert. And there’s the repulsive insects everywhere. Can’t see ‘em, but there’s that sickening chep-er, chep-er, chep-er all the time. Dirty, that’s what it is here. Those awful, dangerous pine-trees encourage them, I’m sure. This whole place should be closed down. I’d burn it down if I had half a chance. No real patients either, apart from moonstruck David and this sad old reprobate of a soldier turned teacher…
“…Ac mae o’n dal i baldaruo am sothach hefyd. Pyramidiau, melltithion, sigwratau, aberthau, geiriau hudol. Neu fadarch hudol, mwy na thebyg. Pwy a ŵyr! Mi rwyf yn coelio fod o’n gofyn am botel o’r cyffuriau. Rhywbeth fel na. Siawns dydych chi ddim yn medru cadw’r stwff na, na roi fo allan jyst fel ny, ydych chi? Ble maen nhw, gyda llaw, y cyffuriau? Mae o angen dogn da o’r tawelydd ceffylau na fyddan nhw i gyd yn gymryd pan fyddan nhw’n rafio. O, ac mi rydyn ni’n ffansïo picau ar y maen, hefyd, os byddech chi mor garedig. A dim ond gofyn dw i, ond oeddwn i’n dy glywed di’n berwi am ryw hen beth neilltuol rŵan jest?”“…And he keeps gabbling on about nonsense too. Pyramids, curses, ziggurats, sacrifices, magic words. Or magic mushrooms, most likely. One wonders! I think he’s asking for a bottle of the drugs. Something like that. Surely you’re not authorised to store that stuff or give it out, just like that, are you? Where are they, by the way, the drugs? He needs a good dose of that horse tranquilizer they all take while raving. Oh, and we fancy Welsh cakes, too, if you would be so kind. And only asking, but did I hear you going on about some particular antique just now?”
“O, os chi eisiau unrhyw beth arall, chi’n gallu mynd i’r gegin a ffeindio fe ar eich liwt eich hunain! Chi’n trin y lle fel sai fe eisoes eich un chi. Ta be, dyna oedd Dai. Ac wrth gwrs ei gysgod, Stevie, yn chwarae bili-ffŵl fel arfer. Maen nhw wedi torri i lawr yng nghefn gwlad yn rhywle wrth ddod yn ôl o ryw ‘ddigwyddiad’. Fe fydda i’n gofyn i’r gofalwr Ffred o ddrws nesa fynd â’r car arall a gyrru draw i’w hachub nhw. Fe fydd yn cymryd oriau i’r lori ddamweiniau gyrraedd yno, felly sgen i ddim dewis o gwbl. Mae Stevie, O diar, wel, dyw e ddim yn rhy dda, wedwn ni. Bydd yn rhaid iddo fe gael ei weld yn yr ysbyty, siŵr o fod, ‘lly well i chi aros ma yn y plasty dros nos, tan fore fory, mae’n llawer mwy cyfforddus. Nawr te, yn ôl at yr alwad ffôn, maen nhw di mynd i banics llwyr, y pŵr dabs. Peidiwch cyffwrdd â dim byd wrth i fi bant.”“Oh, if you want anything else you can go to the kitchen and find it yourselves! You’re treating this place as if it’s your own already. Anyway, that was Dai. And, of course, his shadow, Stevie, playing the fool as usual. They’ve broken down out in the countryside somewhere coming back from some ‘event’. I’ll ask the caretaker Ffred from next door to take the other car and drive over to rescue them. It’ll take hours for the tow-truck to get there, so I’ve absolutely no choice. Stevie’s, Oh dear, well, he’s not very well shall we say. He’ll probably need to be seen in the hospital, so you’d better stay here in the mansion-house overnight, until tomorrow morning, it’s a lot more comfortable. Now, back to the phone-call, they’re in a complete panic, the poor dabs. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”
“Reit, Gomando Trefol … wyt ti yno? Blodeuwedd sy ma. Ie, iawn, wyt ti di gael e oddi ar y weiren? O’r gorau. Fe fydda i’n mynd â Gwrach Ddrwg y Gorllewin a Ffoi-rhag-tranc o gwmpas y plasty gas gan esgus mod i’n chwlio am yr ewyllys. Sa i’n gallu gadael nhw ar eu pennau eu hunain am amser hir. A dwi’n siŵr bod nhw’n gw'bod am ‘feddyginiaeth werin’ ein hen ŵr hysbys ni. Synnwn i ddim sen nhw’n fflicio’r botymau neu dynnu’r tiwbiau mas i’w yrru fe i’r Nw Yrth cyn pryd. Ac mae cymaint o stwff trydanol ma, a’r silindrau ocsigen. Fe allai fynd lan fel ffwrnais chwyth os aiff unrhyw beth o’i le. A fydd e’m yn aros yn llonydd. Mynnu gwingo. Ac mae hyd yn oed wedi dianc i’r bwthyn gwpl o dro erbyn hyn, gan wisgo dim byd ond hen gynfas. Nagw, sa i’n dychmygu lleisiau o’r tu hwnt! Ydw, wrth gwrs mod i’n siŵr! Dw i wedi clywed nhw, y twpsyn hurt. Gyda ‘nghlustiau’n hunan. Wrth siarad gyda ti. Be? Pa fath o seremoni? Ti di bod yn llefaru wrth yr awyr? Siarad gyda’r ymadawedig, y rhai gwrthodedig? Gyda dy Dad di? Neno’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, gei di gau dy geg!…“Right, Urban Commando ... are you there? Blodeuwedd here. Yes, OK, have you got him off the wire? Right. I’ll be taking the Wicked Witch of the West and Voldemort around the mansion. pretending to look for the will. I can’t leave them alone for long. And I’m sure they know about our wise old man’s ‘folk medicine.’ I wouldn’t it past them to go flicking the switches or pulling the tubes and sending him to Kingdom Come before his time. And there’s so much electrical stuff here, and the oxygen cylinders. It could all go up like a blast furnace if something goes wrong. And he won’t sit still. Insists on squirming about. And he's even escaped to the cottage a couple of times now, wearing nothing but an old sheet! No, I’m not imagining voices from beyond! Yes, of course I’m sure! I’ve heard them, you silly boy. With my own ears. While I’ve been talking to you. What? What kind of ceremony? You’ve been communing with the air? Talking to the departed, the forsaken ones? With your Dad? For the sake of the Indolent Idolaters, will you shut up!...
“…Felly bydd yn rhaid i ti hel hi nawr, cyn gynted ag y gelli di, ac fe ddylet ti allu cyrraedd adre o fewn deg munud, rhoi dy ben i lawr, dod at dy goed di, a sobri dy hunan. Cofia di, byddi di angen cuddio’r fan rownd cefn yr hen stablau. Wedyn, heno, cer yn ôl i’r hen le, y bwthyn, dan lenni’r gwyll fel petai, i gythru i ‘Arch y Cyfamod’ a mynd â hi bant fel na fydd Fwngws y Bwci-bw na’r Arglwyddes Tremaine yn gallu chipio hi. Mae allwedd ‘da ti, on’d oes, hmm? Mae da fi lygaid ym mhob man y machgen, a dw i’n sylweddoli fod di’n snecio bant ar y slei bach, ac i ble, a gyda pwy, er dwyt ti’m wedi mynd i mewn to! Watsia di, mae’r drws yn stiff ond mae Ffred wedi bod yn mynd a dod yno o bryd i’w gilydd…“…So, you’ll have to set off now, as soon as you possibly can, and you should be able to get home within ten minutes, get your head down, come to your senses, and sober up. Remember, you’ll need to hide then van round the back of the old stables. Then tonight, go back to the old place, the cottage, under cover of darkness as it were, to grab the ‘Ark of the Covenant’ and take it away so Fungus the Bogeyman and Lady Tremaine can’t steal it. You’ve got a key, haven’t you, hmm? I’ve got eyes everywhere my lad, and I realise you sneak off on the sly, and where, and with who, although you’ve not been in yet! Watch it, the door’s stiff, but Ffred’s been going back and forth there from time to time…
“Bydd yn ofalus gyda’r fan, cofia, tipyn o lanc-rasiwr yw’r Ficing na, heb sôn am yr anaf i’r pen a’r diffyg ymennydd yn y lle cynta. A dim stopio i ‘helpu’ pobl sy ddim eisiau dy help di! Mae’r holl gellwair fod di’n gallu witsio nhw’n achosi cymaint o drafferth! Yn enwedig pan fydd e’n gweithio. Be nawr, mae e di cwympo i lawr mewn tomen enfawr o dom da stemllyd, a ti’n credu fod e di cleisio asgwrn y gynnen? O, asgwrn cynffon ti’n feddwl. Esgyll Lushfé … gwaeth nag un o’r Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog o Sansibar yn yr hen chwedl! Ac wrth gwrs, “Oni thelwch i fwnci ei gyflog cymwys, dim ond cnau wedi’u torri a gewch.” Dw i’n gw'bod dyw’m yn ddywediad Cymraeg go iawn. Rôdd Ffred yn gweud wrtha i gaeth ei sgrifennu yn Asa sy’n iaith farw o ogledd Tansania! Sut ar y Ddaear gaeth e’i gymwysterau sgen i’r un syniad. Ffred a’r Ficing. Fe ddylai’r gwas ddal ati gyda tynnu’r cartwnau a sgrifennu’r ffug-wydd. Fe fydd e’n ladd ei hun ryw ddydd, bid siŵr, druan â fe! Felly paid â mynd â fe, neno Nuthkí Arglwydd Byw a Marw. Gan bwyll nawr, ddim cythraul gyrru!”“Be careful with the van, mind, that Viking’s a bit of a boy-racer not to mention the head injury and the lack of brains in the first place. And no stopping to ‘help’ people who don’t want your help. All that pretending you can enchant them causes so much trouble! Especially when it works. What, he’s fallen over in a huge pile of steaming cow-dung, and you think he’s bruised the bone of contention? Oh, the coccyx you mean. Lushfé’s Wings ... worse than one of the Boisterous Red Monkeys from Zanzibar in the old tale! And of course, “If you don’t pay a monkey his appropriate wage, all you’ll get is cracked nuts.” I know it’s not a real Welsh saying. Ffred was telling me it was written in Asa which is a dead language from Northern Tanzania! How on Earth he qualified, I’ve no idea. Ffred and the Viking. The boy should stick to drawing the cartoons and writing the sci-fi. He’ll kill himself someday, I’m sure of it, the poor thing! So don’t take him, in the name of Nuthkí, Lord of Living and Dying. Steady on, now, no road rage!
A dyma godi’r Hen Filwr oddi ar ei orsedd, i hercian o’i siambr, drwy’r gegin, tuag at ddrws cefn i’r plasty, gan frewlan wrtho’i hun: “Ble mae fy hudlath? Mae’r ddefod ar fin dechrau. Ydw i’n gwisgo ‘ngwn sgarlad? Rhaid i fi gofio’r geiriau priodol, a phaentio’r arwyddion cêl. Rwy eisiau mynd mas am dro ar y gwely hedegog unwaith eto. I fynd â fi i … i’r lle arall … llawn cyfiawnder priodol, trefn lwyr, cosb am bechodau, a dial am ddrygioni … tra bydd y nghannwyll ynghynn eto. Ac yno fe fyddaf yn derbyn y wobr rwy’n ei haeddu ar ôl bywyd o galedi ac unigrwydd. Fe fydd yn ddiweddglo ffrwydrol, fy nianc terfynol, rwy wedi gofalu am hynny. O, pwy oedd y bobl hynny i gyd? Beth oedden nhw’n neud yma? Mae’r gwallgofiaid wedi cymryd y seilam drosodd. Mae fel hunllef. A dyna’r creaduriaid, tanbaid, cennog, erchyll yn llechu yn y corneli, lle mae’r onglau oll wedi’u hystumio, a’r holl ectoplasm seimllyd, poeth hefyd, yn diferu lawr y waliau o boptu. Maen nhw’n fy nisgwyl i! Ac rwy’n gallu gwynto’r osôn, a chlywed y golau uwchfioled. Rwy mor flinedig, ond yn gorfod cyrraedd y bwthyn i gyflawni’r hyn sydd ei angen cyn iddi fynd yn rhy hwyr!”And the Old Soldier gets up from his throne, to stumble from his chamber, through the kitchen, towards the tradesman’s entrance to the mansion, muttering to himself: “Where’s my magic wand? The ceremony’s about to start. Am I wearing my scarlet gown? I have to remember the right words, and paint the secret signs. I want to go out for a ride on the flying bed again. To take me to … to the other place … full of appropriate justice, complete order, punishment for sins, and revenge for evil … while my candle’s still alight. And there, I’ll receive the prize I deserve after a life of hardship and loneliness. It will be an explosive finale, I’ve seen to that. Oh, who were all those people? What were they doing here? The lunatics have taken over the asylum. It’s like a nightmare. And there’s the scaly, flaming creatures lurking in the corners, where all the angles have been distorted, and all the hot, slimy ectoplasm, too, dripping down the walls all around. They’re expecting me! And I can smell the ozone, and feel the ultraviolet light. I’m so tired, but have to get to the cottage to complete what’s needed before it’s too late!”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 21

Pennod Pump ar Hugain: Rheibio (Lleisiau 21) / Enchanting (Voices 21)

Mae un theori ynghylch ffawd y cyfanfyd yn darogan y canlyniad canlynol. Wrth i’r bydysawd ymledu’n dragwyddol tuag at ebargofiant, bydd y mwyafrif o’r mathau o ronynnau elfennol o fater (hynny yw, y ffermionau) yn diflannu, gan adael dim ond ychydig ohonynt ar ôl, yn ogystal â ffotonau o olau (sydd yn fosonau). Yn unol ag egwyddorion ystadegol yn gysylltiedig i’r ffenomen o’r enw entropi, bydd popeth yn cyrraedd o’r diwedd gyflwr o’r enw gwastadrwydd gwres, lle ceir y gydrywiaeth fwyaf ac unffurfiaeth tymheredd o ran mater ac egni. Oblegid yr ymlediad cyson, bydd tonfedd y pelydriad electromagnetig yn mynd yn hwy hwy, yn gochach gochach, wrth i’r gronynnau symud yn bellach byth oddi wrth ei gilydd. Heb raid dweud, ni fydd yr un bod dynol yno i wylio’r achlysur hwn, fydd yn ofer, gwag, ac unig, yn datblygu yn y dyfodol pell anhygoel. Serch hynny, fodd bynnag, rhaid inni gofio nad yw’r posibilrwydd hwn yn dweud dim byd o gwbl wrthym am y sefyllfa amhendant ond cynhyrfus yn y byd sydd ohoni. Felly, a ddylem adael i’r fath fyfyrio damcaniaethol liwio ein meddyliau a’n hymddygiad wrth inni ddal i fyw, a ffynnu, a llwyddo yn y gornel anhygyrch hon o’r alaeth o leiaf – wrth inni ladd ein hunain a’r blaned sydd yn ein meithrin ar yr un pryd?

One theory relating to the fate of the universe predicts the following result. Whilst the cosmos expands eternally towards oblivion, the majority of the types of fundamental particles of matter (that is the fermions) will disappear, leaving only a few of them behind, together with photons of light (which are bosons). In accordance with statistical principles connected with the phenomenon called entropy, everything will at last reach a state named heat death, that is the greatest homogeneity and uniformity of temperature on the part of matter and energy. Because of the constant expansion, the wavelength of the electromagnetic radiation will get longer and longer, redder and redder, as the particles move further away from each other. Needless to say, there will not be a single human being there to watch this eventuality, which will be futile, empty, and lonely, developing in the incredibly distant future. Despite that, however, we must remember that this possibility tells us nothing at all about the vague but exciting situation in the present day. Thus, should we allow such hypothetical musing to steer our thoughts and our behaviours whilst we are still alive, and flourishing, and succeeding in this remote part of the galaxy at least – whilst killing ourselves and the planet which nourishes us at the same time?

Dyma Hen Filwr sy’n dymuno dod yn Ddewin. Mae wedi bod yn crwydro o amgylch ei blasty, yr honglad cyndadol y mae’n perthyn arno am hyn o dro, o leiaf, wrth i’r lleill chwilota am rywbeth pwysig iawn. A rhwng y dryswch oll, a’r loes ddiddiwedd, mae’n hau dannedd y ddraig yn ei sgil nes i’r holl deulu drwg ei dymer (heblaw Ffred yr hen was da a ffyddlon) syrffedu ar y perfformiad. Unwaith y bu bron iddo ddianc drwy’r drws gefn am y trydydd tro, mae rhaid i’r angylion gwasanaethgar roi dogn helaeth o snisin lleddfol iddomewn gobled o gopr yn llawn medd poeth. Ac wedyn dyna nhw’n ysgubo i ffordd i’r dafarn leol, Y Ddafad Golledig, am brynhawn hir o gwnsela a synfyfyrio, ac i foddio’u pryderon mewn galwyn neu ddau o’r Ambrosia Ffug, gan adael eu noddwr dan lygaid barcut y gofalwr.Here’s an Old Soldier who desires to become a Wizard. He has been wandering about his manor-house, the ancestral pile he owns at the moment, at least, whilst the others ferret about for something very important. And what with all the confusion, and the never-ending pain, he sows the seeds of chaos in his wake, until the whole bad-tempered family (apart from Ffred the faithful old retainer) get fed-up with the performance. As soon as he’s almost escaped through the back door for the third time, the ministering angels have to give him a plentiful dose of calming snuff in a copper goblet full of hot mead. And then they sweep off to the local hostelry, The Lost Sheep, for a long afternoon of counselling and meditation, and to drown their worries in a gallon or two of the Fake Ambrosia, leaving their patron under the caretaker’s eagle eye.
O ganlyniad i ryw dro anlwcus ar fyd, fodd bynnag (ymyriad dwyfol yn cynorthwyo gwendid dynol, efallai), mae’r gŵr cyflog yn teimlo’n eithriadol o flinedig ar ôl llyncu dwsin o deisen sbesial oedd yn oeri ar y pentan. Wrth iddo fwynhau cwsg y rhai cyfiawn, adewch inni obeithio, mewn gwely crog yn yr ystafell wydr, fel rhyw ddiogyn cysglyd, dyna ymlusgo’r athro cythreulig drwy dwnnel cudd tuag at seler ei loches ar lan yr afon beraroglus. Mae’n hen law gyda’r cyffuriau, wrth gwrs, yn ei farn ei hun beth bynnag, ac actor gwych ar ben hynny, ac wedi iddo deipio ei neges derfynol, dyna fe’n ymbleseru, ynteu ymgolli, mewn gweledigaethau, cyn i’w Waith Mawr ddechrau o ddifri —By some unlucky twist of fate, however (divine intervention assisting human weakness, perhaps), the employee is feeling exceptionally tired after gulping down a dozen special cakes that were cooling on the hob. As he enjoys the sleep of the blessed, let us hope, in a hammock in the conservatory, like some like sleepy sloth, the devilish teacher slips through the hidden tunnel towards the cellar of his hide-away on the bank of the sweet-smelling river. He’s an old hand with the drugs, of course, in his own opinion anyway, and an excellent actor to boot, and after he’s typed his last message, he indulges, or loses himself, in visions, before his Great Work begins in earnest —
“Ar fin dibyn rwy’n eistedd, yn hongian rhwng y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth, gan alw ar bob duwdod allaf fi feddwl amdano i’m helpu ar fy nhaith olaf gan fy mod yn ofni nad ydw i wedi paratoi’n ddigon da. Hen Filwr yn rhith athro ydw i (neu’r ffordd arall), a Dewin fyddwn i hefyd, dyn sy’n blentyn tynged, a gwystl ffawd, ond nid trwy ddewis ond yn hytrach oherwydd tafliad y disiau cosmig. Ond pwy sy’n perthyn ar y llaw sy’n chwarae’r fath gastiau gyda fy mywyd, gyda’n bywydau ni i gyd? Rhaid holi, wrth reswm, a ydy hynny, y syniad mai dim ond gwerinwyr mewn gêm wyddbwyll ydym, yn well na’r sefyllfa amgen, lle y cawn ni’n rheoli gan rymoedd corfforol yn hollol y tu hwnt i’n dirnad. Does dim gwahaniaeth am y manylion a dweud y gwir, achos mai dyma fi’n gwingo uwchben gwagle enfawr, pygddu, ond, neno’r Saith Hen Feistr, dw i ddim yn barod i neidio eto…“I’m sitting on the edge of a precipice, hanging between the Earth and the Nw Yrth, calling on every divinity I can think of to help me on my last journey as I’m afraid I’ve not prepared well enough. I’m an Old Soldier in the guise of a teacher (or vice-versa), and I would be a Wizard too, a man who is destiny’s child, and a hostage to fortune, and not by choice but rather because of the toss of the cosmic dice. But who owns the hand that plays such tricks with my life, with all our lives? You have to ask, of course, whether that, the idea that we’re nothing but pawns in a game of chess, is better than the alternative situation, where we are controlled by physical forces completely beyond our comprehension. It makes no difference about the details to tell the truth, since here I am squirming above an enormous pitch-black, void, but, by the Seven Old Masters, I’m not ready to jump yet…
“Fe wn i y bydd Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid yn ymweld â phechodau’r ifainc nad yw’n bodoli eto ar yr henoed; a’r rhieni, a gosbir er mwyn puro’r plant; ac o reidrwydd rwy’n derbyn y canlyniad hwn. Ac fel hyn, gan gario iau camweddau’r Ddaear ar fy ngwar, yr Angau fyddaf fi, a fydd yn difa’r Byd er mwyn cychwyn creu o’r newydd. Dyma fi’n gweiddi, felly, O Kali Fawr, a adwaenir fel Nuthkí ar y Nw Yrth, rhowch imi nerth! Mae hyrddiau o loes yn golchi fy rheswm ymaith. Dyna wayw’n debyg i waywffon ac ar ei bigyn ryw fustl chwerw draig, yn gwanu f’ochr unwaith eto, fel sydd wedi bod yn digwydd cyn amled yn ddiweddar. Fel Lushfé ydwyf fi, yn nwylo Swtach, cyn iddo yntau gafodd ei ddatgymalu a’i aelodau’u gwasgaru i bedwar ban y Nw Yrth…“I know that the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers of the Extremely Exalted Empire of the Yrthians visit the sins of the young who do not yet exist upon the aged; and it is the parents who are punished in order to purify the children; and of necessity I accept this conclusion. And so, bearing the yoke of the Earth’s sins on my shoulders, I shall become Death, who shall destroy the World in order to begin creating afresh. I shout out, therefore, O Great Kali, who is known as Nuthkí on the Nw Yrth, give me strength! Spasms of pain wash my reason away. A pang like a spear with some bitter dragon’s bile on its tip stabs my side once again, as has been happening so often recently. Like Lushfé am I, in the hands of Swtach, before he was dismembered and his limbs scattered to the four corners of the Nw Yrth…
“Ond wedyn, dracht o drwyth gwenwynig yn cynnwys llwch anghyfreithlon, fydd yn fy nghodi i anterth gorfoledd ffwndrus. Efallai y gall hyn ddifodi pob gronyn o’r siel-syfrdandod rwy’n dioddef ohono ers blynyddoedd. Ac ar ben hynny bydd rhaid imi gael gwared ar gysgod dychryn rhyfel, a gysylltir â’r gad anferthol honno i ddod, sydd i fod i anrhydeddu’n ffydd lân, gwarchod ein bodolaeth yn ei phurdeb a’i nerth cysefin, amddiffyn ein tylwyth rhag ysglyfaethwyr fyddai’n ein difa ni, ac ategu’n hegwyddorion yn wyneb y rhai fyddai’n ysgubo ymaith bob cysyniad o gyfiawnder, cywirdeb, a chysondeb…“But then, a draught of poisonous infusion containing illegal dust, raises me to the zenith of perplexed exultation. Perhaps this can delete every jot of the shell-shock I’ve been suffering from for years. And also, I must get rid of the shade of war-terror, connected with that colossal battle that’s to come, which is supposed to honour our holy faith, safeguard our existence in its purity and original strength, defend our tribe against predators who would destroy us, and uphold our principles in the face of those who would sweep away every concept of justice, correctness, and consistency…
“Rwy wedi consurio’r fangre arallfydol yn unol â’r rysáit, ond nid wyf fi’n adnabod rhithyn yma gan nad ydwyf wedi cael fy hyfforddi, ond yn lle hyn wedi dwyn y geiriau’n anghyfreithlon, ynteu’u dyfeisio nhw. Ond eto i gyd, angen yw mam pob dyfais, a hwn a dyr ddeddf. O, cyn ddued â maen aberthol yw popeth yn y fan hon, ac mor oer a llithrig hefyd, nid bod dim byd i’w weld yn glir, na’i glywed yn gwbl sicr, ond mor llyfn â drych o arian caboledig, pur, wedi’i lapio mewn llen o sidan coch ydy wyneb y tir lle rwyf fi’n aros…“I’ve conjured the otherworldly locus according to the recipe, but I do not recognise a speck here as I have not been trained, but instead have stolen the words illegally, or invented them. But then again, necessity is the mother of invention, and this knows no law. Oh, everything in this place is as black as a sacrificial stone, and as cold and slippery too, not that there’s anything to be seen clearly, nor heard with complete certainty, but as smooth as a mirror of pure, polished silver, wrapped in a sheet of red silk is the surface of the land where I am waiting...
“Hyblyg yw pob ymyl syth a ddylai fod yn sad, ac mae’n enbyd o gyfforddus, ar ryw ystyr, ond yma, y sawl sy’n cysgu a fydd yn marw’n ddiamau, yn y pendraw. Dyma annedd Kalpavriksha, y goeden sy’n diwallu pob dymuniad, ac fe’i rheolir gan Kamadhenu, y fuwch sy’n gorwedd ar slab o halen, gan freuddwydio am orffennol na fu, a dyfodol na fydd yn bosibl ychwaith. Ac yma mae Kalachakra, olwyn amser, yn cylchdroi byth a hefyd, a chanu’i chân greulon am ddychwelyd tragwyddol. O, am gelwyddau melys fydd i’w profi gan yr anwyliadwrus!...“Every straight edge, which should be stable, is flexible, and it’s terribly comfortable, in some sense, but here, he who sleeps shall die without a doubt, in the end. This is habitation of Kalpavriksha, the tree which fulfils very wish, and it is governed by Kamadhenu, the cow who lies on a slab of salt, dreaming of a past that has not been, and a future which is not possible either. And here Kalachakra, the time-wheel, is always rotating, and singing its cruel song of eternal return. Oh, what sweet lies are to be experienced by the unwary!...
“Mae pinnau bach ar fy nghroen, fel petaswn i’n rhyw ffetws, ffiaidd a ffrom, yn ffyrnig ddatblygu yn y bru. A dyna gan fod llygad cyfansawdd y bodolaethau ar blaned las a choch, ger seren oedd yn hen pan anwyd ein Daear ni, yn rhythu i’m henaid, wrth i’w teimlyddion grynu mewn disgwyliad o gael hyd i was newydd. Wrth gwrs, byddan nhw wastad yn dymuno gwybod beth fydd yn digwydd pan fydd rhyw ynfytyn yn ymdrechu i gyflawni defodau alcemegol yn golygu cyffuriau seicedelig er mwyn trawsffurfio’i ddirnad. Dan bwysau’r pefriad digyffro, nad wyf yn gallu'i weld oddi mewn i’r tywyllwch llwyr, er fy mod yn ei ddychmygu’n berffaith serch hynny, rwy’n amau nad wy’n deilwng, ac yn cwynfan yn blentynnaidd o’r herwydd…“There are pins-and-needles on my skin, as if I were some foetus, obnoxious and irascible, developing fiercely in the womb. And that is because the compound eyes of the beings on a blue and red planet, near a star that was old when our Earth was born, are staring into my soul, whilst their feelers tremble in expectation of finding a new servant. Of course, they always want to know what will happen when some fool strives to complete an alchemical rite involving psychedelic drugs, in order to transform his perception. Under the pressure of the ceaseless sparkling, which I cannot see from within the complete darkness, but which I imagine perfectly despite that, I doubt I am worthy, and whimper childishly as a result…
“Nid oes dim ceiliog yn canu yma yn yr anialdir rhwng y Ddau Fyd i fesur amser, dim cymdeithas i reoli â llaw haearn dros safonau ymddygiad a ddisgwylir gan grwpiau nac unigolion, dim byd o gwbl heblaw sgraffinio’r tariannau o gitin yn cuddio cefnau’r creaduriaid rhyfedd yn y Byd Arall sydd y tu hwnt i'm cyrraedd eto. Felly na, na, deirgwaith na: yn driphlyg rwy’n gwadu’r rhai fyddai’n fy rhwystro ac atal f’ymchwil am y nerth ysbrydol a’r grym corfforol sydd eu mawr angen i wastrodi’n Byd Cythryblus ni. Fel arwr anorchfygol rwy’n gosod fy mryd yn erbyn y cyhuddwyr, ac yn diarddel eu barn! Wedi ymbaratoi rwyf fi i wynebu fy heriau; rwy’n gwisgo’r fantell drom, wedi’i dwyn oddi ar fy mrawd, rhag y peryglon a ddaw; a gŵn ysgarlad, ysblennydd ydy, ac ynddo edafedd o swynganeuon euraidd wedi’u cyfrodeddu gan gorynnod hudol…“There is no cock crowing here in the wilderness between the Two Worlds to measure time, no society to rule with an iron hand over the standards of behaviour that are expected from groups or individuals, nothing at all except the scraping of the shields of chitin hiding the backs of the strange creatures in the Other World which is beyond my reach yet. So, no, no, thrice no: triply I deny those who would restrain me and halt my quest for the spiritual strength and the physical might which are greatly needed to discipline our Turbulent World. Like an invincible hero I set my mind against the accusers, and disavow their judgement! I have prepared myself to face my challenges; I am wearing the heavy robe, stolen from my brother, against the dangers which shall come; and it is a splendid, scarlet gown, containing threads of golden charms plaited by magical spiders…
“Er mwyn cychwyn y seremoni a chreu cyswllt â’r Isfyd, rwy’n dechrau llafarganu geiriau’r Ddefod Amasus, yn y drefn wrthol ac o chwith – ‘Hatalag, Mitalag’ – wrth i bopeth o’m gwmpas lifo i’r Pwll Diwaelod gan newid y Byd yn llwyr. Ac felly, yng ngolau’r lleuad sy bellach yn llewyrchu mor danbaid ag onics tawdd yng ngwres craterau dyfnaf y Nw Yrth, rwy’n chwilio am wyddorion cudd, gan syrthio i lawr twll cwningen, sy’n dwll clo hefyd. Mae’r lle hwn yn heigio ag ansicrwydd fel adlewyrchiad mewn drych chwilfriw, ac fe’i rheolir gan ddeddfau afresymegol, sef mai’r gwagle sydd yn cynnwys hadau pob posibilrwydd, mai llonyddwch yw symudiad, ac mai cynradd â mynd i unman yw teithio i bobman…“In order to initiate the ceremony and create a link with the Otherworld, I begin to chant the words of the Amasus Ritual, in reverse order, and backwards -- ‘Hatalag, Mitalag’ – whilst everything about me flows into the Bottomless Pit, changing the World entirely. And so, in light of the moon which is by now gleaming as fiercely as molten onyx in the heat of the Nw Yrth’s deepest craters, I search for hidden principles, falling down a rabbit-hole that is also a key-hole. This place teems with uncertainty like a reflection in a shattered mirror, and it is governed by illogical laws, namely that the void contains the seeds of every possibility, that stillness is motion, and that travelling everywhere is equivalent to going no-where.
“Dewch gyda fi, felly, ar y fordaith ryfedd hon i’r Nw Yrth. Siwrnai i diroedd toreithiog ond rhithiol fydd hi, lle y mae tywysogesau hudolus a thywysogion dychmygol yn byw. Awn ni gyda’n gilydd i deyrnasoedd dirgel, yn orlawn o fesmeriaeth a manna. Yn y dirwedd hon, pob mynydd ysgithrog sy’n canu chwedl; pob glaswelltyn sy’n sisial cyfrinachau; ac mae’r nentydd baldorddus eu hunain yn dod ag ystyr, os trafferthwn ni glustfeinio. Yn y Byd hwn, mae atgofion o’r dyfodol yn dwyn addewidion; ac mae realiti gwneuthuredig yn cynrychioli llun o fywyd yn syfrdanol o hardd, a ddyfeisir gennym ni’n hunain. Ac yno fe achosaf fi i’r Duwdodau Anghofiedig gasglu ynghyd, trwy drin y geiriau – ‘Ataz, Itaz’…“Come with me, then, on this strange voyage to the Nw Yrth. It will be a journey to fruitful but spectral lands, where live enchanting princesses and imaginary princes. We shall go together to secret kingdoms, overflowing with mesmerism and manna. In this landscape, every craggy mountain sings a tale; every glass-blade whispers secrets; and the babbling brooks themselves carry meaning, if we bother to prick up our ears. In this World, future-memories bear promises; and manufactured reality represents a picture of life, stupendously beautiful, invented by us ourselves. And there I shall cause the Forgotten Deities to collect together, by wielding the words – ‘Ataz, Itaz’…
“Yno, ar y Nw Yrth, mae’r trigolion yn brwydro heb orffwys ryfel y galluoedd. Ar hyn o bryd, y Saith Swynwr Seraffiaid, arglwyddi cyfiawnder, sy’n llywodraethu oddi mewn i’r prif sigwrat ar Gyfandir Deheuol y blaned, gan chwifio eu baner las, ysblennydd, wrth orfodi cyfreithiau llymion a disgyblaeth haearnaidd. Rywbryd, ar y Ddaear, maen nhw’n dod i’r golwg ar ffurf cysgodion aruthrol, cwflog, mewn breuddwydion gorfoleddus. Ac wedyn byddan nhw’n temtio eneidiau meidrol â geiriau croyw a thameidiau blasus o ambrosia, o fara angylion, o fanna nefol. Cynnull grymoedd trefn at ei gilydd y maen nhw, gan gynnwys offeiriaid, athrawon, milwyr, academyddion, a gwleidyddion, y rhai sy’n ysu am ddyfarnu ar briodoldeb, pwyll, moesoldeb, cywirdeb, a dirwedd. Ac mae arnom ni angen eu help ar y Ddaear yn awr yn fwy na byth erioed o’r blaen, yn y dyddiau olaf hyn…“There, on the Nw Yrth, the inhabitants fight without rest the war of the powers. At the moment, it is the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, the lords of justice, who are governing, from within the main ziggurat on the planet’s southern continent, waving their splendid, blue banner, whilst enforcing strict laws and iron discipline. Sometimes, on the Earth, they come to light in the form of immense, cowled shadows, in ecstatic dreams. And then they tempt mortal souls with sweet words and tasty morsel of ambrosia, and angelic bread, and of heavenly manna. They are collecting together the forces of order, including priests, teachers, soldiers, academicians, and politicians, those who crave to adjudicate on prudence, appropriateness, morality, correctness, and actuality. And we need their help on the Earth now more than ever before, in these last days...
“Sefyll yn erbyn y Swynwr y mae’r hurfilwyr, lluoedd y gwrthsafiad, y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi, Arolygwyr Anawdurdodol Anochel y Nw Yrth, o dan y lluman coch, carpiog, y tu hwnt i’r pwll gresynus ar gyfandir gogleddol y Byd. Rwy wedi dysgu bod y Delw-addolwyr yn mynnu teyrnged ormodol ond na roddan nhw ddim byd ond difancoll yn y pen draw. Oherwydd hyn, nid oes ganddynt nifer helaeth o ddisgyblion go iawn ac eithrio ychydig siamaniaid, lloerigion, artistiaid, a dewiniaid sy’n prancio'n ddiedifar, gan mai’r Hen Feistri fydd yn eu gwobrwyo â choronau llawryf am eu pennau mewn ebargofiant. Ond maen nhw’n ffynnu ar bob diferyn o anhrefn, ac amheuaeth, y mymryn lleiaf o anufudd-dod ac annibyniaeth sy’n eu bwydo nhw. Ac mae'n nhw'n lluosogi'n fwyfwy cyflym bellalch. A dyna pam y bydd rhaid imi weithio mor galed i’w rhwystro nhw…“Standing against the Sorcerers are the mercenaries, the opposition forces, the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters, the Ineluctable Unauthoritative Overseers of the Nw Yrth, under the ragged, red standard, beyond the wretched pool on the World’s northern continent. I have learned that the Idolaters insist on excessive tribute but that they render nothing blotting-out in the end. Because of this, they do not have an extensive number of true disciples except a few shamans, madmen, artists, and magicians, who prance unrepentantly, as it is the Old Masters who shall crown their heads with laurel in oblivion. But they flourish on every drop of disorder, and doubt, the least bit of disobedience and independence feeds them. And now they are multiplying more and more rapidly. And that is why I must work so hard to prevent them...
“Nawr, crwydro rhwng y Ddau Fyd y mae gwas i’r Saith Swynwr o’r enw Swtach. Yr un ysbryd grymus go iawn ymysg y lluoedd ydy, sy’n dyfeisio dryswch, creu caos, lledaenu llanastr, sibrwd sothach, ymhyfrydu yn aflendid, megino malais, a gwancio gwaed. Pan fyddaf yn edrych arno, byddaf yn gweld glaslanc anafus, delwedd dialedd, a’i groen yn llawn chwysigod, ac mae ganddo gyrn a charnau gafraidd, cynffon gringoch, afaelgar, a llygaid yn hollol ddu fel diemwntau creulon. Bydd yn gwisgo lifrai milwrol, racsiog, wedi’i liwio’n wyrdd brith, ac wrth iddo gyfareddu, bydd yn trafod ei arfau uffernol, sef twca danheddog, esgyrn wedi’u hogi, a chrochan o fustl berwedig. Rwy wedi derbyn ei gymorth sawl gwaith hyd yn hyn, ac mae wedi dod â chyfarwyddiadau ar sut i agor y porth i’r Nw Yrth…“Now, wandering between the Two Wolds is a servant of the Seven Sorcerers called Swtach. It is he who is the one true powerful spirit amongst the hosts, who invents uncertainty, creates chaos, disperses disorder, whispers rubbish, frolics in filthiness, fans malice’s flames, and gorges on gore. When I look at him, I see an injured youth, the image of revenge, his skin all blistered, and he has horns and goat-hoofs, a prehensile, ginger tail, and totally black eyes like cruel diamonds. He wears ragged military uniform, coloured mottled green, and as he makes his enchantments he handles his infernal implements, namely a serrated carving-knife, sharpened bones, and a cauldron of boiling bile. I have received his support several times up to now, and he has brought instructions on how to open the gate to the Nw Yrth…
“Trwy adrodd y swyngan briodol, wedi’i hysgrifennu’n wreiddiol mewn symbolau byw o dân ar waliau’r temlau mwyaf hynafol, ac yn y Llawlyfr Hud a Lledrith colledig o’r enw ‘Ar gyfer Fy Nuwiau Mawr Oll’ rwy wedi’i ddarganfod wrth deithio, rwy wedi gorfodi Swtach i fynd amgych ogylch i ddarganfod gwybodaeth er fy mwyn. Felly y gallaf fi, yr Hen Filwr – a ail-grëir gan Khepri a thywysir gan Karna, mab gordderch i Kunti, a Kumbhakarna, sy’n traflynci mwncïod – ymddwyn fel yr Arglwydd Krishna sy’n ymgaru â’r holl Fyd. Fe fyddaf yn ennyn y sarff Kundalini, sy’n gorwedd yn dorchau yn y fflamau tragwyddol, allan o’i chwsg…“By reciting the appropriate incantation, written originally in living symbols of fire on the walls of the most ancient temples, and later in the lost Grimoire called ‘For All the Great Gods’ that I have found on my travels, I have forced Swtach to go hither and thither to unearth information on my behalf. Thus shall I, the Old Soldier – who shall be re-created by Khepri, and guided by Karna, illegitimate son of Kunti, and Kumbhakarna, the monkey-eater – be able to behave like the Lord Krishna who makes love to the whole World. I shall rouse the serpent Kundalini, who lies coiled up in the eternal flames, out of her sleep.
“O’r herwydd, datgelir imi gan Shakti a Shiva hen ddirgelion y wain a’r cleddyf, y lingam a’r yoni, y crib a’r golofn; ac fe ddysgaf fi gyfrinachau’r wy a’r had. Ond bydd arnaf angen gofalu rhag ofn imi ddatgan y geiriau â nam, gan mai methu fydd yn golygu tynged waeth nag angau. Ond ni phallaf fi byth wrth imi ddyfalbarhau i siantio geiriau’r Ddefod – ‘Atsetop Oe’! Ac o’r diwedd, bydd pawb yn dal i fyw ar y Ddaear yn llawenhau, pan fyddant wedi’u golchi a’u glanhau hefyd, â gwaed, a dagrau a thân…As a result, there shall be revealed to me by Shakti and Shiva, the old mysteries of the scabbard and the sword, the lingam and the yoni, the comb and the column; and I shall learn the secrets of the egg and the seed. But I shall need to take care lest I declare the worlds incorrectly, since failure shall mean a fate worse than death. But I shall never fail as I persevere in chanting the words of the Ritual -- ‘Atsetop Oe’! And finally, everyone who still lives on the Earth shall rejoice, when they have been washed, and cleaned as well, with blood, and tears, and fire…
“A nawr, dyma fi’n breuddwydio mai baban heb ei eni dw i, sy’n bodoli ar ffurf ymwybod glân wedi’i ddilladu â chnawd. Ar fy mhen fy hunan dw i, yn berwi gan ddryswch, mewn croth ble dw i’n rhaglennu system gyfrifiadurol, gynhenid y Byd. Nesaf, dyna fi’n dihuno fel rhyw gachgi wedi’i wlychu gan waed, a daflwyd yn ddiswta i fforest ffiaidd i’w ddistryw. A Jack Procter dw i, a’i ddisgybl Dai Baxter, David – Ivan, a’i fab Daud – dw i’m yn byw, ond dw i’m wedi marw ‘chwaith – ac eto, yn seler fy mwthyn ac ym medd hynafol y Dewin, sef Tŷ Aileni, llawn cysgodion dw i hefyd. Achos mai, yn ôl y pennod ‘Cyfrinachau'r Gelfyddyd Dduaf’ – ‘Mae f'enaid wedi'i agor bellach, i'w gelu yn y gwrthrych rwy'n ei ddymuno. F'aberth fydd f'anfarwoldeb.’…“And now, I dream that I am an unborn babe, who exists in the form of spotless consciousness clothed with flesh. I am alone, boiling with confusion, in a womb where I am programming the World’s innate computer system. Next, I awake as some coward slick with blood, who has been thrown abruptly into a hateful forest to be destroyed. And Jack Procter am I, and his pupil Dai Baxter, David – Ivan, and his son Daud – I live not, but I’ve not died either – and again, I’m in the cellar of my cottage and in the ancient tomb of the Wizard, namely the House of Rebirth, full of shadows, too. Because, according to the chapter ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’ – ‘My soul is now open, to be concealed in the object of my desire. My sacrifice shall be my immortality.’…
“Erbyn hyn mae Amser Cystudd ar fedr cyrraedd o bellafoedd y gwagle er mwyn newid ein hen Ddaear yn gyfan gwbl, gan adael holl Fyd heddiw ar ôl. Ac fe ddaw popeth i ben mewn coelcerth enfawr; ac fe lysg y cyfan yn wenfflam; ac fe lyncir pob dim gan fflam;ac fe’m serir â’r Sêl Ysgarlad, wynias; ac fe ddiddymir camweddau’r Byd gan afon o waed; a’r pryd hwn y bydd pob math o artaith yn dechrau ar gyfer y rhai fydd yn ei haeddu. Felly y cychwynna bodolaeth fod, a dechreua’r bod hwn fodoli drachefn. A dyma fi’n bloeddio’r geiriau olaf – ‘Mifares Leiro’ – Hen Dad yr Awyr, O Fam Fawr, Dywyll, yn eich dwylo chi dw i’n rhoi f’ysbryd! I mewn i’r gwacter dirfawr, gwag — lle yr amnewidir tynerwch, cydymffurfiad, maddeuant, bendith am leufer, ffosffor, fflworoleuedd, cannwyll — fi —““By now the Time of Tribulation is on the verge of arriving from the extremities of the void to change our old Earth completely, leaving the whole of today’s World behind. And everything shall come to an end in an enormous bonfire; and the whole shall blaze away; and I shall be sealed with the red-hot Scarlet Seal; and the World’s transgressions shall be annulled in a river of blood; and at that time all manner of torture shall begin for those who deserve it. Thus shall existence begin to be, and this being shall start to exist again. And here I shout the final words – ‘Mifares Leiro’ – Old Father of the Sky, O Great, Dark Mother, into your hands I place my spirit! Into the immense, empty void — where softness, compliance, forgiveness, grace shall be replaced by lumen, phosphor, fluor, candle — I —!
Ac yn seler y bwthyn, sydd debycach, efallai, i dŵr rhithiol o asgwrn, dyna ffrwydro llithriad ebrwydd o sain, o ddeuddeg o herts i ddeuddeng mil o herts yn ddigon bron i dorri tympanau clustiau. Dyna ddilyn y math o saib a ddisgrifir mewn nofelau graffig – gohirio disgwylgar – ac wedyn – gollwng – dirybudd – fel tswnami. Ac wedi agor y porth, dyna’r Hen Filwr yn ymbaratoi am wahodd y Saith Swynwr i ddod drwyddo gan ddefnyddio gweddill y Ddefod Wysio, yn cynnwys y geiriau priodol, y teclynnau arferol, a’r ystumiau i gyd. Mae wedi ysgrifennu ei ewyllys olaf. Ac mae wrth ei fodd o gredu y bydd yn ennill y wobr derfynol maes o law, wrth iddo yfed y coctel o gyffuriau, ond nid yw'n sbliff dew dros ben, a gwydraid siampên Bollinger, lled oer (un radd Celsius ar ddeg yw’r tymheredd delfrydol), i’w chanlyn, ond rhywbeth sy’n llai chwaethus o lawer.And in the cellar of the cottage, which is more similar, perhaps, to a spectral tower of bone, a sudden glissando of sound erupts, from twenty Hertz to twenty-thousand hertz, almost sufficient to burst ear-drums. And there follows the kind of pause described in graphic novels – pregnant postponement – and then – release – unexpected – like a tsunami. And having opened the gate, the Old Soldier prepares himself to invite the Seven Sorcerers to come through using the rest of the Rite of Summoning, including the appropriate words, the usual tools, and all the gestures. He has written his last will and testament. And he is delighted to think that he shall win the final prize in due course, as he drinks the cocktail of drugs, but it’s not an exceptionally fat spliff, and a glass of cool Bollinger champagne (eleven degrees Celsius is the ideal temperature) to follow it, but something that is a lot less tasteful.
Ac am ryw reswm, wedi methu cyflawni’r aberth gofynnol o ddau fywyd diwerth, mewn gwrthdrawiad fan y tro cyntaf, pan oedd fel pe baent wedi’u diogelu gan darian hudol na allai fe dorri drwyddi ar y pryd er ei ymdrechion cryfaf, mae’n dychmygu ei hun wrth i’w fywyd truenus bron yn treio. A dyna fe wedi’i drywanu i farwolaeth â phensiliau ym mheli’r llygaid – a dyna’i ben yn ffrwydro – a dyna’i waed yn byrlymu ac yn tasgu – a dyna’i hoedl seithug yn bedyddio mangre dychweliad y Mab Darogan.And for some reason, having failed to complete the required sacrifice of two worthless lives in a van-collision the first time, when it was as if they were protected by a magical shield he could not penetrate at the time despite his strongest efforts. he imagines himself as his pitiful life almost ebbs away. And he’s pierced to death with pencils in his eyeballs – and his head’s exploding – and his blood’s bubbling and roiling – and his wasted life’s baptizing the site of the Foretold Son’s return.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 22

Pennod Chwech ar Hugain: Anturio (Lleisiau 22) / Venturing (Voices 22)

Lle poblogaidd yw Glyn Cysgod Angau, ymhlith pobl o bob math, yn cynnwys pererinion ar deithiau, ffotograffwyr rhyfel, a chaethweision yn chwedleua. Yn aml y byddant yn mentro trwyddo er mwyn cyfranogi o’i beryglon ac ennill y gwobrau y dônt o hyd iddynt yno, ac wedyn adrodd am eu hanturiaethau a’u profiadau. Mae’r cysyniad hwn wedi hoelio sylw cerddorion yn enwedig, megis bandiau pwnc, grwpiau metel trwm, ac ensembles o berfformwyr arloesol. Dwg eu gweithiau celfyddydol ddelwau eithriadol ar gof. Efallai eu bod yn cynrychioli trafferthion i’w profi ymhlith y dyffryn ei hun, ynteu ryfeddodau wedi’u cuddio ar ben yr hynt. Dychmyger ar y naill law ardd ragorol lle y bydd pob pleser daearol ar gael i’r dewis rai, ac ar y llaw arall, ystyrier poenydfa’n llawn offer arteithio lle y bydd madruddyn y dioddefwyr yn dychlamu mewn loes. Fodd bynnag, wedi dweud hynny oll, bydd wastad arnom angen cofio nad honni mai’r gair olaf fydd yn darogan ffawd anochel ydynt, y mae’r fath dywalltiadau celfyddydol. Felly, serch yr holl gymhlethdod a dryswch, rydym yn gorfod i holi: a fyddai’n bosibl mai man ddiogel yw’r cwm dirgel hwn yn llawn cysgodion byw, a’u bysedd duon yn denu, mewn gwirionedd, i’r rhai a gâr heb dinc o fariaeth? Ac a allai’r rhai pur o galon dreiddio i’w ddyfnderoedd mwyaf pruddaidd heb eu niweidio, ac efallai, hyd yn oed heb ofni drwg, oblegid eu diniweidrwydd?

The Valley of the Shadow of Death is a popular place amongst people of all kinds, including pilgrims on journeys, war photographers, and tale-telling slaves. Often, they venture through it in order to partake of its perils and win the rewards they will find there, and then report on their adventures and their experiences. This concept has caught the attention of musicians in particular, such as punk bands, heavy metal groups, and ensembles of avant-garde performers. Their artistic works bring exceptional images to mind. Perhaps they represent tribulations to be experienced in the midst of the vale itself, or wonders hidden at journey’s end. Imagine on the one hand an exceptional garden where every earthly pleasure is available to the chosen ones, and on the other hand, consider a dungeon full of torture-instruments where the victims’ gristle throbs in agony. However, having said all that, we always need to remember that such artistic outpourings do not claim that they are the last word which foretells an inevitable fate. So, despite all the complexity and confusion, we are forced to ask, would it be possible that this mysterious valley, full of living shadows, their black fingers beckoning, is a safe place, in truth, for those who love without a trace of desire? And could those pure of heart penetrate into the gloomiest depths without being harmed, without fearing evil, even, because of their innocence?

Rhyw seler guddiedig, sy’n oer a thywyll ond yn fyw o rithiau, o freuddwydion chwilfriw – neu, ‘falle, rhyw dŵr heulog, twym, sy’n agored led y pen – mae’r olygfa’n cael ei haildrefnu bob amser wrth i ddeunydd realiti dywynnu a dawnsio. Ond beth bynnag a fo, mangre heb ei thebyg ydy, mewn ffordd o siarad, wedi’i goleuo â chanhwyllau rhuddion. Dyna utganu offeryn pres, hynafol, ac mae’n swnio fel rhu bwystfil yn tynnu cnawd oddi wrth asgwrn. Ac wedyn, datganiad, o ble nad yw’n glir – ‘Pan ddaw’r amser, y delo’r gwŷr!’ – yn debycach i losgfynydd yn echdorri na llais bod byw. A ddywedodd dyn hynny, unwaith? Wel, pa wahaniaeth? Fe all dyn fod yn hollol siŵr o’r ffaith, sut bynnag, mai dewiniol dymp y nos ydy'n awr –– ac mai tri gŵr sy’n disgwyl eu hachubiaeth er nad ydynt yn sylweddoli’r manylion i gyd ar hyn o bryd. Ond nid trindod sanctaidd mohonynt, nid o bell ffordd. Nid yw’r tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – y forwyn, y fam, a’r wrach – y Syrthni Angheuol, y Ddrycin Anhydrin, a'r Afon Wylofus – yno ychwaith, eto. Ond mae llais o’r tu hwnt sydd yn perthyn i gennad y triawd anfad, wedi’i alw i sibrwd cyfrinachu celwyddog, yn chwythu trwy’r gofod rhwng y Bydoedd.Some hidden cellar, that’s cold and dark but alive with spectres, with shattered dreams – or, maybe, some warm, sunny tower, that’s wide open – the scenery is being rearranged all the time as the fabric of reality sparkles and dances. But whatever it is, it’s a place without equal, in a manner of speaking, illuminated with blood-red candles. Then an ancient, brass instrument blasts, and it sounds like the roar of a beast tearing flesh from bone. And then, a declaration, from where it is not clear – ‘Cometh the time, come the men!’ – more like a volcano erupting than the voice of a living being. Did a man say that, once? Well, what does it matter? One can be totally sure of the fact, however, that it is the witching hour of night – and that there are three men waiting their salvation although they don’t realise all the details at this time. But they are not a holy trinity, not by a long way. Nor are the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the maiden, the mother, and the hag -- the Deathly Malaise, the Intractable Storm, and the Tearful River – there either, yet. But a voice from beyond that belongs to the legate of the sinister trio, called up to whisper lying secrets, is blowing through the void between the Worlds.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “F’annwyl fachgen! Os byddi di’n derbyn y neges hon, o’r tu hwnt, ynteu mi fyddaf wedi diflannu’n llwyr oddi ar wyneb ein Daear deg ni heb adael ôl, i gychwyn ar daith arallfydol i achub y Byd. Mi elli di ymddiried yn y ffaith hon yr un mor sicr ag y bydd rhaid i ddyn gyfaddef mai cymylau tywyll fydd wastad yn croesi a gorchuddio wyneb llachar y lleuad lawn, Mam dwyllodrus inni i gyd, gefn trymedd noson heb sêr.”[Voice from Beyond] “My dear boy! If you are receiving this message from beyond, then I shall have disappeared completely off the face of our fair Earth without leaving a trace, to begin an otherworldly journey to save the World. You can trust this fact just as surely as one must confess that dark clouds will always cross and hide the shining face of the full moon, the deceitful Mother of us all, in the dead of a starless night.”
Am chwech o’r gloch yn brydlon – ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep,’ yn ôl y rhifo anorfod gan y cloc aflafar yn ei ‘stafell wely, ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep’ – dyna ddihuno Dai o’i drwmgwsg. Dyw e ddim yn cael ateb gan ei Elen hyfryd wedi’i ffonio h’n syth ar ôl cwympo o’r gwely blêr, er iddi fod mor awyddus i ‘sgwrsio o ddifri am bethau’ dim ond ryw fis o’r blaen. Ac wedyn aeth hi mor oerllyd a ffroenuchel. Ond ‘sdim ots ‘da fe, wrth gwrs, achos bod gwaith pwysig i’w 'neud heno yn lle sisial cariad yn ei chlustiau perffaith, mor debyg i gregyn wystrys. Dyw e ddim eisiau ‘siarad,’ ‘chwaith, hyd yn oed gyda chryn ymdrech ar ran y dychymyg. Wedi’r cwbl, mae ganddo fe heyrn eraill yn y tân o ran cael hyd i nwyddau gwerthfawr iawn wedi’u cuddio yn y bwthyn.Punctually, at six o’clock -- ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep,’ according to the inevitable enumeration by the blaring clock in his bedroom, ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep’ – Dai awakes from his slumber. He gets no answer from his lovely Elen having phoned her straight after falling out of the messy bed, although she’d been so keen to ‘chat seriously about things’ just a month or so before. And then she went so cold and stuck-up. But he doesn’t care, of course, as there’s important work to be done tonight instead of whispering sweet nothings in her perfect ears, so like oysters. He doesn’t want to ‘talk,’ either, not even with a considerable stretch of the imagination. After all, he has other irons in the fire regarding finding very precious goods stashed in the cottage.
Felly gan anwybyddu cyngor yr Arglwyddes Macbeth ar sut i gyflawni’r cynllun cyfrwys, mae’n mynd draw i wylltio Stezza, fydd fel ci â’i gynffon yn ei ben ôl ar hyn o bryd ar ôl yr holl gastiau yn y digwyddiad diweddara’. Ac mae Dai’n edrych ‘mlaen at gythruddo’r dyn arall drwy gymryd arno dyw e’m yn gallu meddwl yn glir, o achos ei drafferthion. Yn wir, ‘sdim dwywaith amdani, achos fe fydd e’n cael hwyl ar draul y bwystfil chwerthinllyd bob tro. Ond cyn i’r Comando Trefol adael, dyna fe’n paratoi, gan wisgo lifrai milwrol, a hwpio dagr danheddog mewn gwain o ledr coch i lawr band gwasg ei drwser. Mae’n rhedeg draw i’r ysgubor fach ond taclus ar yr ochr arall i’r stad, lle bydd ei ffrind -- wel, yr hen horwth ‘na o ddyn mawr, cyhyrog, sy’n dwlu arno fe – wastad yn mynd i synfyfyrio ar ôl cyfnod hir o rafio fel rhywun o’i go’ mewn parti dawns, rhydd lle bydd miwsig marwhun yn swyno meddwl, corff, ac enaid pawb am oriau bwy gilydd.So, ignoring Lady Macbeth’s advice on how to complete the cunning plan, he goes over to annoy Stezza, who’ll be like a dog with its tail between its legs at the moment after all the carry-on in the latest event. And Dai’s looking forward to winding up the other man by pretending he can’t thing straight, because of his troubles. Indeed, there’s no two ways about it, because he has fun at the expense of the ridiculous beast every time. But before the Urban Commando leaves, he gets ready, donning military gear and shoving a serrated dagger in a red leather sheath down the waistband of his trousers. He runs over to the small but tidy barn on the other side of the estate, where his friend – well, that great big muscly lump of a man who dotes on him – always goes to meditate after a long period of raving like someone off his head in a free dance party where trance music enchants everyone’s mind, body, and soul for hours on end.
Mae’n cyrraedd yno tua chwarter awr wedi chwech, a’i wynt yn ei ddwrn. Ddim yr un peth o gwbl â chael amser da gyda merch yw cwmni Stevo, dyna’n amlwg, ddim o bell ffordd, er bod y twpsyn wastad yn barod i ‘neud rhywbeth o ran hwyl, ta be’ – ac mae Dai’n credu gallai’i ‘achan dwl fod o werth o achos ei nerth, os nad ei ymennydd ymarferol, ac er gwaetha’ diffyg ffraethineb pefriol. Wedi dweud ‘ny, Stevie-boi fydd yn cyfathrebu fel arfer gyda’r pwcaod seithben, a’u croen yn wyrdd, yn byw dan y madarch brithion, blasus iawn ar waelod yr ardd lysiau, a’r môr-ladron ar eu gwely hedegog sy wedi dianc o Wlad Hud. Ond heno, Dai ei hun sy’m yn medru cael gwared ar y geiriau’n rhedeg trwy’i ymennydd, sy’n swnio fel sgript mewn un o’r comics wedi’i ‘neud gan y dyn fydd yn gyd-gynllwynwr anfodlon, siŵr o fod, yn y gweithgareddau fydd yn digwydd yn nes ‘malen.He arrives there about quarter past six, all out of breath. Stevo’s company’s not the same thing at all as having a good time with a girl, that’s obvious, not by a long chalk, although the idiot’s always ready to do something for a laugh, anyway – and Dai considers his dumb buddy could be valuable because of his strength, if not his practical mind, and despite the lack of sparkling wit. Having said that, it’s Stevie-boy who usually communicates with the seven-headed, green-skinned goblins living under the really tasty speckled mushrooms at the bottom of the vegetable garden, and the pirates on their flying bed who’ve escaped from Wonderland. But tonight, it’s Dai himself who can’t get rid of the words running through his mind, that sound like a script in one of the comics made by the man who’ll be a reluctant co-conspirator, probably, in the activities that’ll be taking place taker on.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ond, eto i gyd, ni fyddai neb ac eithrio lloerig yn gwadu bod y lleuad yn bodoli pan â hi o’r golwg yn awr ac yn y man. Ond mae rhai a fyddai’n ceisio maentumio nad bodoli y mae’r gwyll ei hun, ynteu’n hytrach y bodau adwythig yn llechu ynddo, a fydd yn cychwyn symud yn annibynnol fel trobyllau o gysgod yn y tywyllwch llwyr pan fydd y Dewin wedi galw ar iddynt ymddangos ar y Ddaear wedi croesi’r gofod o’r Nw Yrth, naill ai’n wybodus neu ynteu’n anwybodus. Gan fy mod yn hollol sicr am y fath ffeithiau cyfrin, wedi gweld â’m llygaid fy hunan bethau na ddylai gŵr byw byth eu tystio. Ac felly yr wyf yn deisyf ar iti ohirio d’angoel wrth ddal sylw i’m llais digorff!”[Voice from Beyond] “But then again, no-one except a madman would deny that the moon exists when it goes out of sight now and then. But there are some who would try to maintain that the darkness itself does not exist, or rather, the malignant beings lurking in it, which begin to move independently like whirlpools of shadow in the utter darkness when the Wizard has called on them to appear on the Earth having crossed the void from the Nw Yrth, either knowingly or unknowingly. For I am totally sure about such esoteric facts, having seen with my own eyes things that a living man should never witness. And so, I implore you to postpone your disbelief whilst paying heed to my incorporeal voice!”
“Hei, shw mai, Dai, mêt, be’ sy ar y gweill heno, ‘te? Ti sy ‘ma ar fyr rybudd, ond wyt? Be’ am Elen? Ti’n chwilio am fodau allfydol, ‘to? Ma’r gwir mas fan ‘na, siŵr o fod, sbo!”“Hey, how’s it goin’, Dai mate, what’s on the cards this ev’nin’, then? You’re here on short notice, aren’t you? What about Elen? You looking for extra-terrestrials again? The truth’s out there, probably, s’pose!”
“Hei, yr hen frithgi, w! Ti ddylai w’bod – un o’r tylwyth teg sy ‘di crwydro bant i lan y goeden ffa i ymweld gyda’r cawr a’i saith corrach wyt ti! Ti ‘di bod yn chwarae ar dy ben dy hunan drwy’r dydd gwyn wyt ti, Stezz, ma’n edrych ‘lly, ta be’?”“Hey y’old mongrel you! You should know – you’re one of the fairies who’s wandered off up the beanstalk to visit the giant and his seven dwarfs! Been playing on your own the whole day long, have you, Stezz, looks like that, anyway?”
“Dyna hen ddigon, nawr – rho’r gorau iddi, w, a tyfa lan!”“That’s enough now – give over, mun, and grow up!”
“Wel, edrycha ‘ma, ‘achan. Wi ‘di bod yn meddwl. Wi ‘di cael ‘y ngollwng yn y cawl yn wir gan ‘rhen Procter ‘na dro ar ôl tro, laweroedd o weithiau, reit – mor ddefnyddiol â rhech mewn potel bop yw e. ‘Lly, wi ‘di penderfynu, fe fydda i’n mynd draw i dalu’r pwyth yn ôl iddo fe, gan ‘neud llanast ar ei guddfan yntau, mas o law’n hwyrach,” medd Dai, “reit, licet ti fynd am dro yn y fan enwog? Wi ‘di cael ei benthyg gan yr awdurdodau ffiaidd unwaith ‘to, ond so nhw’n gw’bod ‘to, wi’n ellyll bach, slei sy’n dda iawn o ran dod o hyd i allweddi, pethau fel ‘na. Wedi’i chuddio mae hi rownd cefn yr hen stablau. Ac fe fydda i angen dy help di, ‘yn ffrind.”“Well, look here, mate. I’ve been thinkin’. I’ve been really dropped in it by that old Procter time after time, so often, right – he’s about as useful as a fart in a pop bottle. So, I’ve decided, I’ll be going over to pay him back, messing up his hidey-hole when the time comes, later on,” says Dai, “right, would you like to go for a spin in the famous van? I’ve borrowed it from the vile powers-that-be again, but they don’t know yet, I’m a sly little devil who’s dead good when it comes to finding keys, things like that. I’ve hidden it round the back of the old stables. And I’ll be needing your help, my friend.
“O, w, cofia, ‘yn wncwl yw Procter, a nawr mae’n gorwedd ar farw, druan â fe. Dw i’n hongian yn llac, ‘sdim byd yn wahanol ‘da fi i’w wneud shwd bynnag, dere ‘mlaen ‘te, pam lai? Falle bydd rhywbeth diddorol yno – mae ‘da fe lawer o lyfrau hynafol, hyfryd o bob cwr o’r byd ta be’.” A dyna gilwenu Steff, wrth gerdded gyda’r llanc arall, am oriau cythryblus llawn smaldod diystyr, mae’n ymddangos, i gasglu’r fan o’i chuddfan.“Oh, man, remember, Procter’s my uncle, and now he’s lying dying, poor thing. I’m hangin’ loose, nothin’ different for me to do anyway, come on then, why not? P’rhaps there’ll be something interesting there – he’s got lots of ancient books from all over the world anyway.” And Steff smiles weakly, whilst walking with the other lad, for troubled hours full of meaningless banter, it seems, to collect the van for its hiding-place.
“Dere ‘mlaen, neidia i mewn! Iawn. ffŵl o ddyn yw e – meddwl gormod ohono’i hun ma’ e, rhwng ei athrylith alcemegol a’i ddamcaniaethau od am ieithoedd, a gwyddorau hudol pobl yr henfyd, a’r gweddill – wel – gwallgofddyn yw e’n bendant – ti’n gw’bod ble o’dd e’n arfer byw, on’d wyt? Wi’n mynd i benbleth, sa i’n siŵr ble yw ble ar hyn o bryd.”“Come on, jump in! Right, he’s a fool of a man – thinks so much of himself, he does, what with his alchemical genius, and his odd theories about languages and the magical alphabets of ancient peoples, and the rest – well, he’s definitely a madman – you know where he used to live, don’t you? I’m getting confused, I’m not sure where’s where right now.”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Mi ddof â rhybudd enbyd iti, o’r tu hwnt i’r lle yr ydym yn ei alw’n orwel naturiol i’r Pwll Diwaelod. Ac, os bydd popeth yr wyf fi’n ei gredu ynghylch y sefyllfa gyfredol yn gywir, wedyn bydd yr Angau’n arswyd sy’n llai i’w ofni nag y byddai Bodolaeth sy’n parhau yn wyneb ffieiddbeth mor llethol.”[Voice from Beyond] “I bring you a terrible warning, from beyond the place we call the natural horizon of the Bottomless Pit. And, if everything I believe concerning the current situation is correct, then Death shall be a horror less to be feared than would be Existence that persists in the face of such overwhelming abomination.”
“Wel, wrth gwrs ‘mod i’n nabod ei gartre’ e, y bwthyn, dyna ble oedd e’n arfer byw rai blynyddoedd yn ôl – ond ar ei ben ei hunan ma’ e nawr, ac maen nhw’n ei garco fe yn y plasty achos fod e mor sâl.” Dyna syllu Steff yn feddylgar i’r pellter drwy sgrin wynt frwnt y fan, “Bu’n sbel go lew ers – wel – ers bu farw’r wraig a’r ferch fach, y greadures ifanc – roedd ‘na ddamwain enbyd yno – nwy gwenwynig – carbon monocsid, yn fwy na thebyg. ‘Lly nawr dim ond llawn ysbrydion, cofion, cysgodion yw’r hen le. Well i ni fod yn garcus! Well ‘da fi beidio marw – ddim heddi’, ta be’!”“Well, of course I recognise his home, the cottage, that’s where he used to live some years ago – but he’s all alone now, and they’re looking after him in the mansion ‘cos he’s so ill.” Steff stares pensively into the distance through the van’s dirty windscreen. “Its’s been a while – well – since his wife and his little girl, the poor creature, died – there was a terrible accident there – poison gas -- carbon monoxide more than likely. So now the old place’s only full of spirits, memories, shadows. We’d better be careful, I’d prefer not to die – not today, anyway!”
“Sdim ots ‘da fi, w! Ti sy angen cymryd cyfrifoldeb am bethau nawr. Rhaid i ti esbonio wrtha i’n fanwl –ble oedd e’n arfer byw – yn nhwll tin byd, siŵr iawn? Am ryw reswm wi’n teimlo yn ‘y ‘nghalon fod y lle’n eitha’ tebyg i ble ro’n i’n arfer byw ‘da ‘Nhad, dramor, pan o’n i’n grwt, t’mod?”“Makes no difference to me, man! It’s you who needs to take responsibility for things now. You’ve got to explain to me in detail – where did he used to live – the back end of beyond, right enough. For some reason, I feel in my heart that the place was quite like where I used to live with my Dad, overseas, when I was a kid, y’know.”
“Hei, w, pam ti’n chwarae ‘da fi bob tro? Ti’n greulon wir iawn, t’mod. Ti’n gw’bod yn rhy dda am y llefydd i gyd rown’ fan ‘yn, a beth sy ‘di digwydd ynddyn nhw.” Dyma oedi Steff, cyn mynd ymlaen, “Yn y bwthyn oedd e’n arfer byw, nage’r plasty posh fel ar hyn o bryd, rhif un deg saith ydy, siŵr o fod, y dyddiau ‘ma, ‘rhen Dŷ Glas.”“Hey, man, why’re you playing with me all the time? You’re really cruel, y’know. You know only too well about the places round ‘ere. and what’s happened in ‘em.” Steff hesitates before going on, “It was in the cottage he used to live, not the posh mansion like right now, it’s number seventeen, probably, these days, the old Blue House.”
“Wel, sa i’n gallu peidio dychmygu bod yn grwt drewllyd, amser maith yn ôl, sbo. Falle bod y therapi’n gweithio. Wi’n cofio gwlad i’r dwyrain, dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd, ac yno ma’ tŷ heb fod ymhell oddi wrth y dre’, ar Ystâd y Pinwydd, wi’n credu, ar droed y Bryn Serth, ar lan yr hen Afon Domlyd. Wi’n tybio bod ni’n dlawd, a balch, a byw mewn gobaith. A dweud y gwir, licwn i ‘sen ni’n mynd i rywle gwahanol heno, heb yr holl atgofion gwael, ond, wel, ti sy ar fai am 'ny fel o’n i’n gweud, ond paid becso amdana i – ma’ gwaith i’w ‘neud!” “Well, I can’t stop imagining being a smelly kid, long, long ago, s’pose. P’rhaps the therapy’s working. I remember a land to the east, across the Great Grey Sea, and there there’s a house not too far from the town, on the Pines Estate, I think, at the foot of the Steep Hill, on the bank of the old Mucky River. I believe we were poor, and proud, and living in hope. To tell the truth, I’d like it if we were going somewhere different tonight without all the horrid memories, but, well, that’s your fault, like I was saying, but don’t worry ‘bout me – there’s work to be done!”
“Hmpphh, so ‘ny’n deg o gwbl, ‘achan. Dy syniad di yw hyn i gyd a dyna’r gwir. Ond, os ti’n meddwl bydd yn werth chweil —”“Hmpphh, that’s not fair at all, matie. This is all your idea, and no mistake. But if you think it’ll be worthwhile—“
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ynghyd â’r neges hon, wedi’i darlledu tros amser a gofod, yr wyf fi’n gadael dogfennau o bob math ymhlith fy meddiannau eraill, yn gynnwys Hen Lyfrau Llên, fel y byddi’n gallu gwirio’r honiadau hyn â hwy, er iddynt ymddangos yn rhemp.”[Voice from Beyond] “Together with this message, broadcast across time and space, I am leaving documents of all sorts amongst my other possessions, including Old Books of Lore, so that you can substantiate these allegations with them, although they appear excessive.”
“Reit, cymera dy dro wrth y llyw, Stezza, w, fel arfer. Caea’r drws a gyrra di, gwboi! Ond sa i’n barod i fynd drwy’r Porth rhwng y Ddau Fyd y munud ‘ma, ha, ha! Rhaid i ni ladd amser am dipyn, ‘lly ‘nawn ni grwydro am dro. Gwylia rhag y llabystiau ‘na ar y chwith, a gwthia’r botwm i fi, iawn, i gloi’r drws. A dyna ni, bois bach, bant â ni!”“Right, take your turn at the wheel, Stezza, man, as usual. Shut the door and drive, cowboy! But I’m not ready to go through the Gate between the Two Worlds this minute, ha, ha! We gotta kill time for a while, so we’ll wander about for a bit. Watch out for the louts there on the left, and push the button for me, right, to lock the door. So, there we are, boys, off we go!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Y mae f’ymchwil dros flynyddoedd maith, ar faterion dirgel a dirmygadwy sydd yn ymwneud â chyffuriau seicedelig, galluoedd annaearol, a defodau gwaharddedig, wedi f’arwain i at – amryw fathau o ganlyniad. Ond mae’n rhaid imi fynnu o’r cychwyn cyntaf mai dim ond ceisio gweithio er lles mwyaf y ddynolryw oll oeddwn i, trwy gydol fy nhaith mor ormesol i ddatgelu cyfrinachau’r Nw Yrth.”[Voice from Beyond] “My research over many a long year, on matters mysterious and despicable which are to do with psychedelic drugs, otherworldly powers, and forbidden rites, have lead me to – various kinds of conclusion. But I must insist from the very beginning that I was only every trying to act for the greater good of all humankind throughout my most exacting voyage to reveal the secrets of the Nw Yrth.”
Dyna’r fan yn tanio ac wedyn ymlusgo heibio’r haid o lanciau sy’n ymdrybaeddu yn y budreddi tu ôl i’r siop gornel dreuliedig ar bwys yr hen stablau lle mae Dai wedi parcio’r fan. Mae aelodau'r llwyth plorynnog yn llowcio caniau o seidr yn fwy byrbwyll na Noa, heclo a bocsio gan ffugio ymladd, rhegi’n farddol, a phoeri’n gystadleuol ar y pafin. Wrth i Steff sleifio drwy’r lonydd cefn, llwyd ar y ‘stad, a’r tai’n wael hyd at farw â chlefyd y concrit, dyw e ddim yn gallu peidio sylwi ar yr holl wepau didostur sy’n lygadu fe’n edliwgar o safleoedd bysiau a phreswylfeydd wedi dadfeilied. Mor ddiffygiol mewn pŵer ydy’r goleuadau stryd gwangalon fel na allan nhw dorri trwy’r tawch drycsawrus sy’n tewychu’n gawl asidig mor glou. A chwysu’n stecs mae Stevo wrth i’w ddwylo ddal yr olwyn yn dynn.The van starts and then crawls by the horde of lads who are wallowing in the squalor behind the tatty corner shop near the old stables where Dai’s parked the van. The members of the spotty tribe are quaffing cans of cider more rashly than Noah, heckling and boxing while pretending to fight, swearing poetically, and spitting competitively on the pavement. While Steff slinks through the washed-out back lanes on the estate, the houses deathly sick with concrete disease, he can’t stop staring at all the merciless faces that are eyeballing him reproachfully from bus-stops and decayed residences. So lacking in power are the dispirited street-lights that they can’t cut through the foul-smelling mist that’s so quickly thickening into an acidic soup. And Stevo’s sweating buckets while his hands grab on tight to the wheel.
Mynd rownd a rownd mae’r fan am oriau, gan gylchu’r ‘stad lawer gwaith heb gyrraedd ei chyrchfan ola’. A mynd fel y coblyn mae meddyliau’r llanciau hefyd, wrth iddynt rannu smôcs, a snisin sbesial, a chostrel o’r gwirod drud ofnadw’ o’r enw ‘Carma Gwael’ wedi’i thwgu oddi ar yr hen Ddafad Golledig. Ond yn y pen draw, mae’n hen bryd i’w sgwrs blentynnaidd ddod i ben – ond dyw’r ddau fabŵn noeth (wel, un ohonyn nhw o leiaf sy’n greadur blewog), ddim yn medru rhoi’r gorau i falu awyr. Ac yna, ymhlith y pinwydd, dan gysgodion ymlusgol, dyna ymrithio’r Sêl Ysgarlad o ddim ar un o’r coed, wrth i Lais Trallodus y pregethwr ymfflamychol ar y radio, y Peintiwr Coch, godi beil y llanciau. A dyna siffrwd y dail yn herllyd, ‘cheper – cheper – cheper.’ Canol haf ydy, ond mae ‘na ddrycin yn crynhoi. Wedi’r cyfan, mae defod i’w chyflawni. Yn y presennol beichiog, mae’r dyfodol diamynedd yn disgwyl y gorffennol hwyrfrydig. A dyma ein bachgen gwrol, Dai Baxter, yn dechrau parablu’n uchel ac yn gyflym —The van goes round and round for hours, encircling the estate many times without reaching its final destination. And the minds of the lads are turning over like crazy too, as they share smokes, and special snuff, and a flagon of the awfully pricey spirit called ‘Bad Karma,’ stolen from the old Lost Sheep. But in the end, it’s high time for their childish chat to come to an end – but the two naked baboons (well, one of them, at least, is a hairy creature), can’t give up talking nonsense. And then, amidst the pines, under creeping shadows, the Scarlet Seal materializes from nowhere on one of the trees, whilst the Vexatious Voice of the inflammatory preacher on the radio, the Red Painter, stirs the lads’ bile. And the leaves whisper, challengingly, ‘cheper – cheper – cheper.’ It’s Midsummer, but there’s a storm brewing. After all, there’s a ritual to complete. In the pregnant present, the impatient future awaits the tardy past. And our heroic boy, Dai Baxter, begins to chatter loud and quick —
“O’r gorau, bron yno, dyn ni, w? O leia’ so ni yng nghalon y dre’ felltigedig ‘na, diolch byth. ‘Sdim gormod yn digwydd rown’ ffordd ‘yn, reit, ‘lly fe ddylwn ni allu parcio rywle mas o’r ffordd ond o fewn golwg clir i’r bwthyn, chwedyn dyn ni’n gallu cadw llygaid ar agor am ddrwg, t’mod?““OK, almost there are we mun? At least we’re not in the heart of that accursed town, thank goodness. There’s not too much happening round ‘ere, right, so we should be able to park somewhere out of the way within clear view of the cottage, then we can keep an eye open for trouble, y’know?”
“Sa i’n siŵr am ‘yn o gwbl, Dai. Fe ddylwn ni fynd adre’. So’n teimlo’n reit.”“I’m not sure about this at all, Dai. We should go home. It doesn’t feel right.”
“O, cau dy geg, w! Mae hi’n un ar ddeg, a so’r hen dwpsyn drewllyd yn gallu symud o’i wely yn dy hen blasty mor posh, yn ôl pob sôn. Dim ond talu’r deyrnged ola’ dyn ni, fel ‘sai. Iawn, lanc, ‘naiff y lle ‘ma’r tro i barcio. Neidia mas! Ble ni’n anelu amdano fe ‘achan? Ti fydd yn cymryd yr awenau o hyn ‘mla’n.”“Oh, shut your gob, mun! It’s eleven, and the old stinkin’ idiot can’t move from his bed in your old oh-so-posh mansion, by all accounts. We’re just paying out last respects, like. Right, this place’ll do for parkin’. Jump out! Where’re we aiming for, matie? You’ll be taking the reins from here on.”
“Ww, pam bod mor dwp, w? Ti’n gwybod. Yn syth ‘mlaen. Y drws ‘na, rhif un deg saith, jyst fan ‘yn -- ‘Y Tŷ Glas’.”“Oooh, why be so stupid, man? You know. Straight on. That door, number seventeen, just by ‘ere – “The Blue House.”
“Grêt, mêt. Www, nawr wi’n dechrau cofio’n reit. Mae jyst fel ble o’dd Dad a fi yn arfer byw ‘slawer dydd. Wi’n gallu gweld y lle, bron, yn debyg iawn i’r tŷ bach, wedi mynd â’i ben iddo – rhif saith – lawr y stryd – draw fanna.”“Great, mate. Oooh, now I’m starting to remember right. It’s just like where Dad and me used to live ages ago. I can see the place, almost, really like the small house that’s on its last legs – number seven – down the street – over there.”
“O, Hmmm, dw i’n gweld, neis, ha, ond dw i’m yn siŵr be’ ti’n feddwl am dy Dad di.“Oh, Hmmm, I see, nice, ha, but I’m not sure what you mean about your Dad.”
“’Sdim ots. O’dd y ‘ffernol hyll ‘na, Procter, yn arfer dweud fod e’n lico fe – ‘dau ar bymtheg’ o’dd yn yr hen ddyddiau, pan o’dd e’n ddrewgi ifanc – sa i’n gw’bod be’ o’n nhw’n siarad amdano hanner yr amser yng ngwersi rhifoleg yr hen fwgan ffôl!”“Never mind. The ugly devil, Procter, used to say that he liked it – ‘two-on-fifteen’ it was in the ol’ days, when he was a young skunk – I don’t know what they were talking about half the time in the old fool of a hobgoblin’s numerology classes!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Y mae rhai o’m darganfyddiadau’n cythryblu’r meddwl i’r fath raddau, o’r braidd y gallaf sôn amdanynt hwy. Serch hynny, yr wyf wedi ceisio gwneud nodyn ohonynt, er mwyn d’amddiffyn di, a’r Ddaear gron ar ben hynny, rhag y rhai sydd yn meddu ar y deallusrwydd mwyaf anfad yn y Ddau Fyd.”[Voice from Beyond] “Some of my discoveries disturb the mind to such a degree, that I can scarcely mention them. Despite that, I have tried to make a note of them, in order to defend you, and the whole Earth as well, from those who possess the most iniquitous intelligence in the Two Worlds.”
“O, dyw Procter ddim mor ddwg â ‘ny. A, wel, nifer diddorol iawn yw un deg saith, t’mod – y nifer lleia’ hap, yw e, yn ôl Ffeil Iaith Dechnegol yr Hacwyr; hefyd, rhif cysefin Eisenstein heb ran ddychmygol yw dau ar bymtheg. A dim ond un deg saith o grwpiau cymesuredd gwastad dau ddimensiwn sydd, felly dim ond un deg saith o batrymau unigryw i bapur wal sydd hefyd. A bydd rhaid wrth un deg saith o elfennau mewn pos Sudoku, os byddwch chi eisiau cael datrysiad unigryw – stwff fel ‘ny, ha!”“Oh, Procter’s not as bad at that. And, well, seventeen’s a very interesting number, y’know – it’s the least random number, according to the Hackers’ Technical Language File; also, seventeen is an Eisenstein prime number without imaginary part. And there are only seventeen two-dimensional plane symmetry groups, so there are only seventeen unique patterns for wallpaper, too. And seventeen elements are required in a Sudoku puzzle, if you want to have a unique solution – stuff like that, ha!”
“O, ‘Rhen Dduwiau Tawdd, w! Be’ sy’ di’ digwydd i’r drws? A beth am y nifer – dyw e ddim yn ‘un deg saith’ – ma’n edrych fel ‘se’n ‘saith,’ on’d ydy? Dyna, hmmm, gyd-ddigwyddiad od.”“Oh, the Old Molten Gods, mun! What’s happened to the door? And what about the number – it’s not ‘seventeen’ – it looks as if it’s ‘seven,’ doesn’t it? That’s a, hmmm, strange coincidence!”
“A beth am ‘yn, Davie? ‘Drycha! ‘Neno Wezir! Ma’n edrych yn ffres – gwlyb – coch – tipyn bach fel gwaed, iawn? Tàg, on’d ife? ‘Y’ â’i choesau i fyny a dwy linell ar ei chroes – ¥? Fel arwydd ‘yuán’ o’r Dwyrain Pell – Triadau – rhyfel rhwng gangiau – cyffuriau, falle? Cofio unrhyw beth o bwys am ‘yn. ‘achan? Ond dyma’r lle’n bendant!”“And what about this, Davie? Look! Name of Wezir! It looks fresh – wet – red – bit like blood, right? Tag, isn’t it? ‘Y’ with the legs up and two lines across it – ¥? Like the ‘yuán’ symbol from the Far East – Triads – gang warfare – drugs, p’rhaps? Remember anything important about this, mate? But this is the place, definite!”
O glywed hyn mae Dai’n dechrau poeni er gwaetha’r olwg cŵl arno. “Sa i’n gw’bod, w. Falle bo’r ‘un’ wedi cw’mpo bant. Ta be’, edrych. Y ffenestri. Ma’n nhw’n hollol dan orchudd tu fewn. Dyna bapur gloyw, on’d ife? Be’ yn y Ddau Fyd sy’n mynd ‘mlaen ‘ma?”On hearing this, Dai starts to worry despite his cool look. “I dunno, mun. Maybe the ‘one’ has fallen off. Anyway, look. The windows. They’re totally covered inside. That’s silver paper, isn’t it? What in the Two Worlds is going on here?
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Dyna ddychryn mor frawychus ac mor annealladwy, nes bod fy meddwl yn cilio rhag yr union syniad, wrth i’m hysgrifbin betruso cyn gwneud marciau ar y papur hwn er cof amdano. Fodd bynnag, â’r galon drymaf, yr wyf fi’n fy ngwthio fy hun i gyfansoddi’r neges hon y byddaf yn ei darlledu atat trwy wactod y gofod ar ffurf symbolau a delweddau, a fydd yn symbylu dy feddyliau’n ddisymwth pan ddaw’r amser priodol.”[Voice from Beyond] “There is a terror so fearful and so incomprehensible, that my mind retreats from the very ideas, as my quill wavers before making marks on this paper to commemorate it. However, with the heaviest of hearts, I am pushing myself to compose this message which I shall be broadcasting to you through the vacuum of space in the form of symbols and images, which will stimulate your thoughts abruptly when the appropriate time comes.”
Ond ni ddaw dim ateb defnyddiol gan Steffan, gan ei fod wedi’i rewi, ac yn rhy brysur yn meddwl am gyd-ddigwyddiadau ynghylch swyngyfaredd niferoedd —But no useful answer comes from Steffan, as he’s frozen, and too busy thinking about coincidences regarding the enchantment of numbers —
“Saith – rhif ffodus i gymaint o bobl – saith math sylfaenol o gatastroffe – rhif cysefin, sy’n ffactorol, lwcus, hapus, saff – y cyfanswm mwya’ tebygol gyda dau ddis – y Saith Salm Benyd – Saith Doethion Rhufain – y Saith yn erbyn Thebae – y Saith Cysgadur – y Saith Bechod Marwol – y Seithfed Nef – Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd…” Ond dyna Dai’n torri ar draws ei fyfyrio rhifolegol —“Seven – a lucky number for so many people – seven fundamental types of catastrophe – a prime number that’s factorial, lucky, happy, safe – the most common total with two dice – the Seven Penitential Psalms – Seven Sages of Rome – the Seven against Thebes – the Seven Sleepers – the Seven Deadly Sins – the Seventh Heaven – Seven Seraphic Sorcerers…” But Dai cuts across his numerological musing —
“Dere ‘mlaen, ‘achan gwirion! Gad i ni fynd i fewn yna, edrych os byddwn ni’n gallu achosi peth o ddifrod maleisus – rhoi gwers i’r hen gythraul cyn iddo ddweud ffarwél wrth ei fywyd galarus unwaith ac am byth – chwedyn dod mas mewn chwinciad chwannen. Paid bod mor dwp, w! Dim ond jocan am bopeth dw i.”“Come on, dozy boy! Let’s get in there, look if we can cause a bit of malicious damage – give the ol’ devil a lesson before he bids farewell to his woeful life once and for all – then get out as quick as quick can be. Don’t be so stupid, mun! I’m only jokin’ about everythin’.”
“O, wel – dw i’m yn deall be’ ti’n weud hanner yr amser, a’r hanner arall, fe fyddi di’n siarad dwli. Sut dyn ni i fod i fynd i mewn? Ma’ fel Cwch Dur Swtach yma!”“Oh, well – I don’t understand what you’re saying half the time, and the other half, you talk nonsense. How’re we supposed to get in? It’s like Swtach’s Steel Hive here!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Wedi’i arddangos ei hun yn anfynych y mae drygioni o’r math hwn ar wyneb dihalog eich Planed ddihalog hyd yn hyn. Yr wyf fi’n credu’i fod e’n tarddu o’r gwagleoedd di-sêr ar ffin y bydysawd cyfarwydd. Ymhellach, na ellir ynganu’i wir enw trwy gyfrwng yr un iaith sydd yn bodoli a chael ei defnyddio ar hyn o bryd, nag sydd wedi cael ei chlywed gan glustiau dynol ar y Ddaear er pan ddechreuodd ein hynafiaid cynharaf lefaru.”[Voice from Beyond] “Infrequently has evil of this kind exhibited itself on the sacrosanct face of your Planet up to now. I believe it originates from the starless voids on the boundary of the familiar universe. Furthermore, its true name cannot be pronounced my means of any language which exists and is used at the present time, nor which has been heard by human ears on the Earth since when our earliest ancestors began to speak.”
“A, nawr ‘te, Stezza! ‘Nes i gipio’r allwedd sbâr oddi ar yr hoel ar y wal yn yr hen dŵr ‘na ar bwys cegin y plasty ble ma’n rhaid i ni gymryd arnon ni’n bod ni’n dysgu’r holl hen rwtsh ‘na, Ww, ryw fis yn ôl. ‘Naeth ddigwydd pan aeth yr Hen Filwr mas i gael pwl o besychu. Dim ond y ddau ohonon ni o’dd yno ar y pryd, pan o’n i ‘di cael ‘nghadw i mewn ar ôl y gwersi am ryw reswm. ‘Naeth y pethau lamu i‘n llaw – ‘megis trwy hudoliaeth’ t’wel’. Dim ond dwy allwedd dŷ o’r un fath oedd yno, a ‘nes i ddwyn un. ‘Lly, ‘sdim raid i ti fwrw’r drws i lawr, falle, w!”“Ah, now then, Stezza! I nicked the spare key off the nail in the wall in that old tower by the mansion’s kitchens where we have to pretend we’re learning all that old nonsense, Ooh, about a month back. It happened when the Old Soldier went out to have a coughing fit. There were only the two of us there at the time, when I’d been given detention after the lessons for some reason. The things jumped into my hand – ‘as if by magic’ y’see. There were only two house keys of the same kind there, and I took one. So, no need for you to bash the door down, p’rhaps, mun!”
“Hei, aros funud, Davo! Dyw’r allwedd ddim yn gweithio. Ma’r drws wedi mynd yn reit sownd. Yn wir. Gan bwyll mêt, paid torri’r peth. Fydd ‘yn yn dalcen caled, reit?”“Hey, wait a minute, Davie! The key’s not working. The door is stuck dead tight. Really. Steady on mate, don’t beak the thing. This’ll be hard going, right?”
“I’r Hen Dduwiau â fe, ‘te, w! Cer ‘mlaen, Stezz! Dal ati, iwsia d’ysgwydd – hwpa – neu rywbeth! Dyna ti – da iawn ti – Caer Procter, dyma ni’n mynd i mewn mewn chwinciad! Dos di yn dy flaen di, ‘te, ‘achan!”“To the Old Gods with it, then, man! Go on, Stezz! Stick at it, use your shoulder – shove – or something! That’s it – good on ya – Fortress Procter, we’re coming in in a flash! You go on first, then, matie!”
“Gan bwyll, y gwrol ryfelwr! Be’ ar y Nw Yrth sy’n digwydd yn fan’ma?”“Steady on, you brave warrior! What on the Nw Yrth’s going on by ‘ere?”
“Paid bod mor ofnus, y cachgi, w! Gad i ni edrych be’ sy’n bod, casglu’r ysbail, cynnau’r tân i guddio’n holau, chwedyn dos i’r diawl o’r lle ‘ma. Iawn? Myn Lushfé, ma’ gwynt traed y meirw’n chwythu ‘ma – ma’n ddigon oer i sythu brain!”“Don’t be so scared, you coward, mun! Let’s look what’s up, collect the spoils, light the fire to hide our tracks, then get the hell out of this place. OK? By Lushfé, the east wind’s blowin’ ‘ere – it’s cold enough to freeze brass monkeys!”
“Be’? Hei, aros di, mêt! Pa ysbail? Be’ sy’n mynd 'mla’n, Dai? ‘Sdim byd ‘ma, dim ond hen sothach dyw’m o werth i neb.”“Wha’? Hey, wait, mate! What spoils? What’s goin’ on, Dai? There’s nothin’ here, only tat that’s of no value to anyone.”
“‘Sdim ots, ‘achan, dim ond rhyw feddwl o’n i, taw falle byddai ‘ma rywbeth neis, rhyw fath o swfenîr bach i ‘nghofio fi am ‘yn hen ysgolfeistr caredig unwaith ei fod wedi marw. O’dd e wastad yn clebran am faint a dimensiynau’r pyramidiau, a wi’n siŵr iddo fe ddod â model i’r dosbarth sawl gwaith. Fe fyddai’n gweud fe ddylwn i fynd bant am byth i Anialdir y Dwyrain, ac fe fyddwn i gartre yno achos mod i mor glyfar â’r mwmis!”“No worries, mate, I was just thinkin’ that maybe there’s be something nice here, some kind of little souvenir to remind me of my kindly old schoolmaster once he’s died. He was always going on about the size and dimensions of the pyramids, and I’m sure he brought a model to the class a few times. He would say I should go off for ever to the Eastern Desert, and I’d be at home there because I’m as clever as the mummies!”
“Reit, iawn – ond, dim tân, y taniwr gwyrgam, fe fyddai hynny’n ofnadw', ac ma’ eisoes ddigon o graffiti yma, ‘fyd. A gyda llaw, mae’r mwmis yn fwy golygus na ti, ta be’!”“Right, OK – but, no fire, you twisted fire-starter, that’d be awful, and there’s already enough graffiti here, too. And by the way, the mummies are more good-lookin’ than you, anyway!”
“Ha, doniol iawn. Ti sy â gwep fel tarw, was. Dim problem, bydi. Dim ond jocan o’n i, cofia. Ond o’r braidd wi’n gallu gweld – ma’n hala ofn ofnadw' arna i – a bod yn hollol onest nawr!”“Ha, very funny. It’s you who’s got a face like a bull, m’lad! No problem, buddy. I was just jokin’, remember. But I can hardly see – it’s really givin’ me the jitters – totally honest, now!”
“O, pwy yw’r hen gachgi nawr, te, Dai-boi? Dyma ti, cydia yno i – fi fydd yn ledio’r ffordd – dim ond ffôl a red rhag ei gysgod, ha, ha!”“Oh, who’s the old coward now, then, Dai-boy? Here ya go, grab onto me – I’ll lead the way – only a fool runs from his shadow, ha ha!”
Ac yna mae’r drws derw, trwchus yn twyllo’r ddau fandal yn gydamserol, trwy agor ohono’i hun. Mewn agosrwydd annisgwyl at ei gilydd, maen nhw’n baglu i mewn i’r tŷ llychlyd, sydd â ffenestri cuchiog, heb olwg, ac iorwg arswydus ar ei dalcennau. Yma, mae tywyllwch cefnforol. Fe fyddai’n anghywir dweud bod y goleuni yn y fangre hon wedi lleihau nes iddo ddiflannu. Yn hytrach, mae golau wedi cael ei rwystro’n gyfan gwbl rhag dod i mewn. Ac o rywle, dyna’r Llais Trallodus yn siantio, ac mae’n swnio fel ryw fwystfil aberthol yn nadu’n hir ac yn uchel mewn poen —And the thick, oak door tricks the two vandals simultaneously, by opening on its own. In unexpected proximity to each other, they stumble into the dusty house, which has sightless, scowling, windows, and horrific ivy on its gables. Here, there is oceanic darkness. It would be incorrect to say that the illumination in this place has lessened until it disappeared. Rather, light has been prevented completely from entering. And from somewhere, there’s the Vexatious Voice chanting, and it sounds like some sacrificial beast whining long and loud in pain —
Gwrandewch, O Wylwyr!
Yn y fforest ddofn,
Poer coedwigwr ar ei lafn,
Chwap cân y fwyell --
O Wylwyr, dewch!		Listen. Oh Watchers!
In the deep forest,
A woodsman spits on his blade,
Swiftly sings the axe --
Oh Watchers, come!
Fan hyn, mae’r Fagddu’n heigio â gwyll corfforol, sy’n creu llif seimllyd ym mhob man. Yma, oerfel hynafol fel twndra byw, gyda dannedd gwenwynllyd ac ewinedd â gwaed du arnynt, sy’n hofran ar fin tynnu adeiladwaith y lle yn gareiau. A hefyd – rhywbeth – pa beth ydy? Sŵn? Mwmian? Canu? Alaw, efallai? Dyna fe, unwaith eto – yn gliriach erbyn hyn – dirgryniad, bron yn organig, sy’n curo’n rhythmig, ac mae’i frigau a’i bantiau’n galarnadu ac yn udo ym mherfeddion y düwch. Dyma gyfarth Steff, fel petai’n gi bach sy wedi’i ddamsgel yn anfwriadol, ac wedyn yn rhedeg i ffwrdd i guddio. Ond mae’r Llais yn parhau —In this place, the Blackness is teeming with physical gloom, which creates a slimy flow everywhere. Here, ancient coldness like living tundra, with poisoned teeth and talons with black blood on them, hovers on the point of tearing the structure of the place to ribbons. And also – something – what is it? Sound? Mumbling? Singing? A tune, perhaps? There it is, once again – clearer now – a vibration, almost organic, that’s beating rhythmically, and its peaks and troughs lament and howl in the depths of the darkness. Steff yelps, as if he were a puppy who’s been trodden on accidentally, and then runs off to hide. But the Voice continues —
Arhoswch, O Wezir!
O’r Fagddu sy’n cylchdroi gan weithio’n fathol,
Nas gwelir oddi mewn i’ch angerdd arteithiol,
Dewch chi, O Gysgod hunan-fyfyriol,
Sy’n cyson gyflawni gorchwylion affwysol,
Gan ddod â lledrith anhysbys, echryslon!
O Wezir, ufuddhewch!		Dally, Oh Wezir!
Oh, Dark revolving in roiling activity,
Unseen from within your torturous passions,
Come then, Oh self-regarding Shadow,
Which constantly satisfies labours abysmal,
Bringing unknown enchantment terrible!
Oh Wezir, obey!
Mae’r halogwyr yn treiddio’n bellach, trwy’r cyntedd ac i mewn i’r dramwyfa. A dyma’r gwynt, trwchus a thrwm, o thus myglyd, fel pinwydd yn llosgi, yn bygwth trechu’r ddau. Yn yr awyrgylch mwll hwn, dyma dafodau di-rif o dân yn arnofio’n wyllt, a dafnau fyrdd o waed byw – cyrbibion teimladol wedi’u wahanu o un cythraul adwythig, heb enw – ac maent i gyd yn disgwyl yr eiliad pan ddisgynnant ar y cnawd amharod fel haid o chwilod ysglyfaethus er mwyn deifio, a rhwygo, a difetha. Ond hyd yma maen nhw mewn dimensiwn arall, fel petai, wedi'u cuddio rhag synhwyrau'r llanciau sy'n gweithio'n rhy galed i ddadansoddi'r hyn sy'n digwydd o'u cwmpas. Ac mae’r Llais, wedi ymgolli yn ei drallod, yn dal ati o hyd —The defilers penetrate further, through the vestibule and into the passageway. And the smell, thick and heavy, of stifling incense, like burning pines, threatens to overcome the two. In this sultry atmosphere, numberless tongues of fire float wildly about, and myriad drops of living blood – sensate fragments separated from one nameless, baneful demon – and they are all awaiting the moment when they shall descend on the unprepared flesh like a swarm of rapacious beetles to scorch, and rend, and destroy. But so far they are in another dimension, as it were, cloaked from the senses of the lads which are working too hard to analyse what is happening around them. And the Voice, lost in its tribulation, continues still —
Mor landeg Tefnuth!
O Tefnuth, sy’n arwain yr ysbrydion,
Fe ddof â jin sych ac ynddo lysiau pêr!
Tefnuth, O, sy’n caru golud,
Agor y drysau, gad i fi gael sgwrs â nhw!
Braf Tefnuth, hyhi sy’n edrych ar ôl y meirwon oll,
O gei di ‘ngwella i?
Tefnuth biau pob hoen!		So good-looking is Tefnuth!
Oh Tefnuth, leader of the spirits,
I bring you dry gin with herbs in!
Tefnuth, Oh, who loves riches,
Open the doors, let me speak to them!
Fine Tefnuth, she who cares for all the dead,
Oh, will you heal me?
Tefnuth owns all joy!
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Nid marwolaeth sy’n dilyn yn ei gamau, y peth hwn heb enw, nage, fy machgen. Na chysgod y bedd ychwaith. Gan mai hanfod dioddefaint yw’r endid hwn a’i filoedd o lygaid dall yn hollol las yr awyr fel eiddo baban heb ei eni yn y bru, a’i grafangau o garreg cyn ddued â phechod y Ddau Fyd. Mae’r gwyll llechwrus hwn yn ansylweddol ond mae ganddo ddwsinau o adenydd o ledr cyn wyrdded â’r llys yn y Pwll Gresynus, cynffonau fel seirff gwrthun, a phluen cyn wynned â’r gwynt. Mae’n gallu blasu balchder ac ymffrost o bell i ffwrdd. Yn wir, y mae’n well ganddo ysglyfaeth ac yn ei brest galon yn curo’n gryf, gan ei fod yntau’n ymborthi ar ansicrwydd, braw, ac atgasedd y rhai byw…[Voice from Beyond] “It is not death that follows in its steps, this nameless thing, no, my boy. Nor the shadow of the grave, either. For this entity is the essence of suffering, with its thousands of blind eyes which are completely sky-blue like those of an unborn babe in the womb, and its stony claws as black as the sin of the Two Worlds. This furtive gloom is insubstantial but has dozens of wings as green as the slime in the Wretched Pool, tails like repugnant snakes, and feathers as white as the wind. It can taste pride and vainglory from afar. Indeed, it prefers prey with a heart beating strongly in its breast, as it feeds on the uncertainty, fear, and hatred of the living…
“…A phan fydd ef wedi dal dyn addas, un a fydd wedi dymuno gorchymyn yr Hen Feistri Enbyd, yna bydd ef yn cosbi’r creadur truenus y tu mewn i’w Gwch o Ddur, gan lapio corff y pechadur â thorchau rhewllyd, wrth feddiannau a threiddio i’w feddwl. Myfi a ddylai wybod, er imi gael fy nhemtio a’m camarwain gan yr Hen Filwr ar ffurf yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, a chwympo oddi wrth ras ar hap a damwain. Dim ond ychydig rai pur eu calon a all ddianc rhag ei aelodau hollgofleidiol, ac felly bydd rhaid iti roi'r pwys mwyaf ar ddysgu aberthu’r arall anfuddiol er mwyn achub dy hunan yn y pen draw rhag iti drengi’n llwyr, ynteu waeth!”“…And when it has caught a suitable man, one who has desired to command the Terrible Old Masters, then it will punish the pitiful creature within its Hive of Iron, wrapping the sinner’s body in freezing coils, whilst possessing and penetrating his mind. I should know, although I was tempted and misled by the Old Solider in the guise of the Old Holy Warrior, and fell from grace by accident. Only a few pure of heart can escape from its all-embracing limbs, and so you will have to put the greatest importance on learning to sacrifice the worthless other in order to save yourself, in the end, lest you perish entirely, or worse!”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 23

Pennod Saith ar Hugain: Twyllo (Lleisiau 23) / Deceiving (Voices 23)

Gyda golwg ar ffotograffiaeth draddodiadol, proses a ddefnyddir yn y bôn er mwyn recordio patrymau o olau, gwyll, a lliw, cysgodion yw rhannau tywyllaf y ddelwedd olaf, a goleubwyntiau yw’r rhai goleuaf. Yn anffodus, oblegid natur gemegol y ffilm, mae ganddi amrediad dynamig cyfyngedig yn unig, o ran y delweddau y gellir eu cynrychioli. Felly, pan ddatblygir ffotograffau, bydd angen defnyddio prosesau neilltuol (megis cymhwysiad, er enghraifft), er mwyn cynhyrchu delweddau fydd yn darlunio’r gwrthrych yn fanwl. Heb y fath dechnegau, mae dau ganlyniad yn bosibl: un ai bydd y llun yn cael ei wanhau’n llwyr, ynteu’r cysgodion yn troi’n flotiau duon nas gwahaniaethir. A allwn ni, felly, o’r safbwynt hwn, gymharu prosesau ffotograffig â rhai meddyliol megis cofio, dadansoddi, rhesymu, a dehongli, lle bydd natur y canlyniad a gynrychiolir yn dibynnu’n fanwl ar liaws o ffactorau o bob math sydd yn cyd-adweithio mewn modd cymhleth iawn? Efallai na honnem fod ffotograffau’n dweud celwyddau, er eu bod yn gallu twyllo’r gynulleidfa’n edrych arnynt. Ond yn achos prosesau meddyliol, sut y dylem geisio dod i’r casgliad cywir, neu gyrraedd barn briodol, am eu gallu i dwyllo neu fod yn anonest, hyd yn oed ar ôl ystyried yn rhesymegol am amser maith?

With a view to traditional photography, a process which is used, fundamentally, to record patterns of light, dark, and colour, shadows are the darkest parts of the final image, and highlights are the lightest ones. Unfortunately, because of the chemical nature of the film, it has only a restricted dynamic range, on the part of the images that can be represented. Thus, when photographs are developed, there is a need to use particular processes (such as adjustment, for example), in order to produce images that depict the object in detail. Without such techniques, two results are possible: either the picture will be completely washed-out, or the shadows will turn into black blotches that cannot be differentiated. Can we, therefore, from this point of view, compare photographic processes with mental ones such as remembering, analysing, reasoning, and interpreting, where the nature of the results produced depends in detail on a host of factors of all kinds which interact in a very complex way? Perhaps we would not allege that photographs tell lies, although they can trick the audience looking at them. But in the case of mental processes, how should be try to come to the correct conclusion, or arrive at an appropriate opinion, about their ability to deceive or be dishonest, even after considering logically for a long time?

Fel molysgiaid yw meddyliau, i raddau helaeth, meddaf fi, y cyn-filwr hwn wedi troi’n fasnachwr bywydau, gan eu bod yn fwystfilod meddal, morthwyliadwy, a llithrig, ar yr wyneb o leiaf, a chymryd popeth amdanynt at ei gilydd. Pethau dieithr a dychrynllyd yw’r angenfilod hyn, erbyn ystyried bellach, sydd wedi cymryd meddiant ohonom ni, goeliwch chi mi, er pan oeddem ni’n belenni o gelloedd yn ymffurfio yn y groth. Maent yn proffesu eu bod yn gyfeillgar, defnyddiol, a chariadus, ond yn lle hyn, y gelynion gwaethaf i weithredu’n effeithiol, penderfynu, cyrraedd nodau, ac ennill y gwobrau haeddiannol ydynt hyw.Thoughts are like molluscs, to a great extent, say I, this former soldier become a merchant of lives, as they are beasts which are soft, malleable, and slippery, on the surface at least, taking everything about them into consideration. These monsters are strange and terrifying beasts, when one thinks further, which have possessed us, believe you me, from when we were balls of cells forming themselves in the womb. They profess they are friendly, useful, and loving, but instead of this, they are the worst enemy to functioning effectively, to deciding, to achieving results, and to winning the prizes deserved.
Ni awgrymwn i y dylai dyn aflonyddu arnynt heb fod dirfawr angen, rhag iddo gychwyn ar daith tuag at wallgofrwydd ac anobaith. Cymhleth ac aruthrol o wasgaredig yn yr ymennydd yw’r mecanwaith moleciwlaidd sy’n cyfrif, amgodio, cyfuno, adwybod, ac argofio, meintiau enfawr o hysbysrwydd a all fod yn rhyfeddol o amrywiol. Endidau amryfal yw meddyliau, ac nid oes dim dal arnynt. Maent yn dod i’r golwg yn llechwraidd yn aml, ac ofer ceisio dweud wrthynt na ddylent ddeffro cysgodion cysglyd.I would not suggest that one should trouble them without there being extreme need, lest one begin on a journey towards madness and despair. Complex and immensely distributed in the brain is the molecular mechanism which calculates, encodes, unifies, recognises, and recalls enormous amounts of information which can be strangely varied. Thoughts are multifarious entities, and there is no holding them back. Often, they come into view furtively, and it is futile to try to tell them that they should not awaken sleepy shades.
Ac yma yn yr anialwch tanddwr, wedi’i foddio gan yr Afon Wylofus, lle, fel pelican unig ac ar goll, rwy’n crwydro ers cyn cof, nid yw’n bosibl gadael llonydd i’r trosiad ynghylch yr infertebratau. Dyfalir mai cragen allanol, led-dryloyw sydd â rhai meddyliau, fel petaent yn debyg i frennig, a bod hon yn eu hamddiffyn rhag ymyrraeth a diraddiad. Ond yn ogystal â honno, mae gan y rhan fwyaf ohonynt droed cyhyrog a all eu glynu wrth gysyniadau eraill, ac sydd yn eu hangori yn y sylweddau cemegol, chwyrlïol sy’n wrtaith cymhleth i’r meddwl, ac sy’n bwydo’r ymennydd.And here in the underwater desert, drowned by the Tearful River, where, like a pelican, lonely and lost, I have been wandering from time immemorial, it is not possible to leave the metaphor of the invertebrates alone. It is guessed that some thoughts have a partially-transparent outer shell, as if they were like limpets, and that this defends them against interference and degradation. But in addition to that, most of them have a muscular foot that can stick them to other concepts, and which anchors them in the swirling chemical substances which are the complex fertilizer of the mind, and which feed the brain.
Y rhain sydd biau tafod danheddog hefyd, ac maent yn crynhoi’n raddol ronynnau bychain o ymborthiant, gan ffynnu a thyfu i fod yn agregau anarferol. Camddehonglid yn hawdd fod y strwythurau estron hyn wedi’u gwneud o syniadau, coelion, delweddau a theimladau’n debyg i grochan hudol sydd wastad yn llawn. Dyma’r tawddlestr fydd yn rhyddhau ar hap a damwain senomorffiaid a chanddynt gennau anhreiddiadwy a miloedd o ddannedd gwaedlyd a rheibus a bair i ddyn frwydro’n ffyrnig yn eu herbyn, wrth wastraffu ei holl rym bywiol. Neu ar y llaw arall, efallai eu bod yn debycach i aelodau anataliadwy o’r tylwyth teg fydd yn dawnsio gyda dyn nes iddo bron â marw o orflinder, ac wedyn sugno ei enaid allan gan adael dim ond plisgyn lledfyw, gwag ar ôl.It is these that have a toothed tongue too, and they gradually accumulate tiny particles of nourishment, flourishing and growing to be unusual agglomerations. It could easily be misinterpreted that these strange structures made of ideas, beliefs, images, and feelings, are similar to a magical cauldron that is always full. It is this melting-pot which releases at random xenomorphs with impenetrable scales and thousands of bloody, rapacious fangs, that cause one to fight fiercely against them, whist wasting one’s vital force. Or on the other hand, perhaps they are more like irrepressible members of the fairy-folk who dance with one until one almost dies from exhaustion, and then suck out one's soul leaving only an empty, half-alive husk behind.
Mae meddyliau’n tueddu i grwydro a threiglo; i blethu eu rhannau cyfansoddol, i gydymdreiddio a chroesffrwythloni, gan newid a chael eu newid yn eu tro. Yn hyn o beth mae fel pe baent yn fwtantiaid o ryw fyd arall, yn bell iawn i ffwrdd oddi wrth yr eiddom ni. Maent yn gweithredu ac yn cael eu defnyddio mewn moddau sydd y tu hwnt i’n gallu i’w deall yn gywir, neu’n llawn o leiaf. Felly mae rhai’n honni bod meddyliau, a chofion yn enwedig, yn rhaffo hanner celwyddau’n gyffredinol, a dweud y lleiaf, gan mai anodd yw eu hoelio a’u hailddosbarthu heb eu llurgunio. Dyma am nad cynrychioli ffeithiau diamheuol y mae llawer o feddyliau, erbyn synfyfyrio’n ddwys amdanynt, er ein gobeithion gorau.Thoughts tend to wander and mutate, to plait their component parts, to interpenetrate and cross-fertilize, changing, and being changed in turn. In this matter, it is as if they were mutants from some other world, very far away from ours. They operate and are used in ways which are beyond our ability to understand correctly, or completely at least. Thus, some allege that thoughts, and memories in particular, in general string together a pack of half-lies, to say the least, since it is hard to nail them down and re-distribute them without mangling them. This is because many thoughts do not represent undisputed facts, when one meditates intently on them, despite our best hopes.
Felly, ni ddylem drafod ein clystyrau coffaol fel pe baent yn gywir neu’n anghywir, am mai nodweddion iaith yw gwirionedd ac anwiredd, nad ydynt yn perthyn i wrthrychau, ac yn enwedig nid rhai ansylweddol megis meddyliau. Lle na fydd yna fod cydwybodol yn llefaru, lle na fydd cywirdeb na chelwydd ychwaith. A sut bynnag, materion na allwn ni gyfeirio atynt yn fanwl glir, y dylem gadw’n ddistaw amdanynt, rhag inni gonsurio rhithiau grymus a ffrochus gyda’n geiriau rhy rydd, na fedrwn ni wedyn eu rheoli.Therefore, we should not discuss our memorial clusters as if they were correct or incorrect, for truth and untruth are characteristics of language, which do not belong to objects, and especially not insubstantial ones such as thoughts. Where there is no conscious being speaking, there is neither accuracy nor lie either. And in any case, matters we cannot refer to perfectly correctly, we should keep silent about, lest we conjure powerful and turbulent spectres with our too-free words, which we cannot control in the end.
Nid wedi’u naddu mewn marmor y mae meddyliau oll, na cherfir hwy mewn maen fel cofebion clasurol ychwaith, er yr ymddengys bod sawl wedi’u smentio mewn lle. Maent yn fwy cyffelyb i gwrelau caregog, sy’n gasgliadau o filiynau o anifeiliaid microsgopaidd, fydd yn ffynnu ac epilio, tyfu a threngi yn y môr, gan ffurfio riffiau enfawr heb rwystr. Eto i gyd, fe allant hwy fod fel sbyngau, wedi’u diffinio gan eu habsenoldebau, eu tyllau, cymaint â’u sylwedd soeglyd.Not hewn in marble are all thoughts; nor are they carved in stone like classical memorials either, although it appears that some are cemented in place. They are more like rocky corrals, which are collections of millions of microscopic animals, which flourish and breed, grow and perish in the sea, forming enormous reefs without restraint. Then again, they can be like sponges, defined by their absences, their holes, as much as by their soggy substance.
Ar y raddfa leiaf, gwneir meddyliau o flociau adeiladu sylfaenol y bydysawd. Mae yna atomau, sy’n lle gwag at ei gilydd. Ynddynt y gwasgerir gronynnau elfennol sef leptonau megis electronau, a gymhellir gan yr egwyddorion ystadegol sy’n disgrifio’u tonffwythiannau mathemategol i gylchdroi o amgylch niwclews. Yno y mae baryonau, hynny yw protonau a niwtronau a wneir o gwarciau, wedi’u clymu â glwonau. Ar y raddfa fwyaf, mae ein meddyliau’n ehangu i gwmpasu galaethau o sêr mewn clystyrau, ffilamentau, a haenau sy’n amgáu gwagleoedd helaeth.On the smallest scale thoughts are made of the fundamental building-blocks of the universe. There are atoms, which are empty space, on the whole. In them are scattered elementary particles namely leptons such as electrons, which are compelled by the statistical principles that describe their mathematical wave-functions to circulate about a nucleus. There, there are baryons, that is protons and neutrons which are made of quarks, bound with gluons. On the largest scale, our thoughts expand to encompass galaxies of stars in clusters, filaments, and layers that enclose extensive voids.
Mae’r meddyliau pwysicaf yn nofio ar ddyfnderoedd gwahanol yng nghawl biocemegol yr ymennydd, llawn amcanion, emosiynau, ac awyddau sydd wastad yn corddi wrth iddynt gyd-adweithio. Mae rhai’n bodoli ar lan môr ymwybod, yn drothwyol ond o fewn cyrraedd golau dealltwriaeth. Cleddir rhai eraill yn affwysau tywyllaf yr anymwybod. Gall cofion neilltuol oroesi drwy gydol oes dyn. Ystyrier melyster ysgytwol y cusan cyntaf, a beth am golled ac angau, llawn awydd hiraethus? Rywbryd, fel pe baent yn gameleonod, gellir adnewid brithgofion ac argraffion gan henaint, neu pan newidia amgylchiadau.The most important memories swim at different levels in the brain’s biochemical soup, full of intentions, emotions, and desires, which are always churning as they interact. Some exist on the shore of consciousness, liminal but within reach of the light of understanding. Some others are buried in the darkest depths of the unconscious. Particular memories can survive throughout one’s life. Consider the shocking sweetness of the first kiss, and what about loss and death, full of nostalgic desire? Sometimes, as if they were chameleons, faint memories and impressions can be modified by old-age, or when circumstances change.
Ac, O, mor odidog a rhyfedd yw lliwiau meddyliau! Ystyriwch drwch wyneb syniad, cyn felyned â gwair, a’r gwaetgochion sy’n troelli islaw, wedi’u gloywi gan wres byw. Mae’r lliwiau hyn yn cymysgu â lliwiau’r hydref fel browngoch ac oren, porffor a llwyd. Ac wedyn dyna’r du dwys, lliw euog yr Hen Lyfrau, yn nofio dros yr haen amddiffynnol, ddofn. Mae’r trwch hwn yn symudliw, ac yn adlewyrchu’r byd y tu allan, gan greu llewyrch metelaidd, syfrdanol ar yr wyneb, sydd yn cyfuno oren heulwen, lliwiad adenydd glöynnod byw, a gwyrdd crôm. Glasgoch yw lliw llygad ddu ar ffo, wedi’i gwella gan stêc, a goffeir yn hwyrach gan enfys rydlyd. Ond, fe fydd eiliw llachar meddyliau’n pylu bob tro, a lle bu ar y cychwyn brif liwiau, cryf a disglair, y bydd arlliwiau pastel, aneglur yn ymddangos o’r diwedd.And, Oh, how wonderful and strange are the colours of memories! Consider the surface-layer of an idea, as yellow as hay, and the blood-reds that whirl below, burnished by living heat. These colours mix with the colours of autumn, such as auburn and orange, purple and grey. And then there’s the intense black, the guilty colour of the Old Books, swimming above the deep, defensive layer. This coating is iridescent, and reflects the world outside, creating a surprising metallic glow on the surface, which unites the orange of sunshine, the colouration of butterfly wings, and chrome green. Violet is the colour of a disappearing black-eye, made better by steak, commemorated later by a rusty rainbow. But, the brilliant aspect of thoughts always fades, and where there were at the start primary colours, strong and vibrant, unclear pastel shades appear at last.
Mae gan feddyliau lygaid, ond ni allant eu gweld eu hunain ar ffurf lluniau. Yn hytrach, dim ond llecynnau o wahaniaeth sy’n bodoli yn gyferbyniad i rai eraill ydynt yn eu hanfod, a fyddant yn wynebu’r dyfodol i ragweld yr hyn fydd yn digwydd, ai edrych yn ôl tuag at y gorffennol i goffáu’r hyn sydd wedi mynd. Mewn modd tebyg, mae cofion yn galw am atgoffäwr i ddehongli drostynt hwy. Pan fyddant yn anfon eu teimlyddion allan i beri diddordeb, cyffroi’r teimladau, neu ogleisio’r dychymyg, bydd meddyliau’n hudo ein synnwyr realiti. Byddant yn ei ystumio’n gyfrwys, wrth droi a newid ein safbwynt ar y byd, gan ddihuno arwyddion fyrdd gwahanol, ar yr un amser. Ac fel hyn byddant yn eu cuddliwio eu hunain yn dda dan y gymysgfa o ddelweddau wedi’u cyflwyno.Thoughts have eyes, but they cannot see themselves in the form of pictures. Rather, they are essentially only patches of difference that exist in contrast to others, whether they are facing the future to foresee what will happen, or looking back towards the past to commemorate what has gone. In a similar way, memories call for a rememberer to interpret for them. When they send their feelers out to provoke interest, excite the emotions, or tickle the imagination, thoughts enchant our sense of reality. They distort it craftily, whilst turning and changing our viewpoint on the world, awakening myriad different symbols, at the same time. And in this way, they camouflage themselves well under the mixture of images presented.
Adlewyrchiadau lluosog oddi ar wyneb meddyliau sy’n achosi patrymau ymyrraeth. Bydd y fath ffenomen yn eu cymhlethu, gan ehangu neu deneuo rhai nodweddion yn fwy na chyneddfau eraill. Ceir, er enghraifft, yr haf hwnnw, hir a thwym, amser maith yn ôl, pan redai’r chwaer a’i brawd gwyn eu byd heb ofal drwy’r Ardd Gyntefig yng nghysgod y pinwydd yn y Byd Arall, yn rhywle draw dros y Gwagle Amhontiadwy. Ond hyd yn oed y profiad hwn a ddiddymwyd yn hwyrach gan gam-drin, gan dranc, a chan ddagr, boeth gan waed, arf a drafodwyd gan Dad, wedi drysu a chreulon.Multiple reflections from the surface of thoughts cause interference patterns. Such a phenomenon complicates them, enhancing or attenuating some characteristics more than other attributes. Take, for example, that summer, long and warm, a long time ago, when the blessed sister and her brother would run without a care through the Primal Garden in the shadow of the pines in the Other World, somewhere over the Unbridgeable Void. But even this experience was abolished later by mistreatment, by death, and by a dagger, hot with blood, a weapon that was wielded by a Father, confused and cruel.
Gall canolbwyntio ar feddwl newid y dirwedd oll yn perthyn i’r syniadau a holir; a gall fod llawer o ddallbwyntiau. Os bydd unrhyw un yn ymosod ar feddwl, wedyn bydd yn chwistrellu rhyw bigment rhyfedd allan – yn debyg i’r inc sepia sy’n ddihafal, hen ffasiwn, drudfawr, a ddefnyddid i staenio hen ffotograffau’n frown – gan gymylu’r awyrgylch eneidiol. Ac os bydd dyn yn ceisio dadansoddi neu ddifynio’r broses o feddwl yn rhy fanwl, fe gaiff hyd i waed, fel petai, sy’n anarferol o wyrddlas, â blas copr arno. A dyma fydd yn dwyn i’r gof ddelweddau wedi’u boddio o’r wybr asur a’r eigion glas tywyll, yn ogystal â rhithiau’r meirwon diedifar mewn sachlïain a lludw fydd yn ebychu wrth wasgu eu dwylo a disgyrnu eu dannedd – ‘Cofiwch eich pechodau’ch hun!’Concentrating on a thought can change the whole landscape belonging to the ideas which are being interrogated; and there can be many blind-spots. If anyone attacks a thought, then it will squirt out some strange pigment – like the sepia ink that is unequalled, old-fashioned, expensive, which was used to stain old photographs brown – clouding over the spiritual atmosphere. And if one tries to analyse or dissect the process of thinking in too much detail, one finds, as if were, blood, which is unusually turquoise, tasting of copper. And this brings to mind drowned images of the azure heavens and the dark-blue depths, as well as spectres of the other unrepentant dead in sackcloth and ashes who exclaim whilst wringing their hands and gnashing their teeth – ‘Remember your own sins!’
Mae’r syniadau o obaith a daioni’n meithrin a’n cynnal ni, ond, rywbryd, gall cronni atgofion gwenwynllyd arwain at lid, at anesmwythder dirdynnol, hyd yn oed at dranc. Ymhellach, bydd gwyrdroi meddyliau’n aml yn faleisus. Nid oes ond rhaid inni gofio’r rhai sydd wedi dioddef erledigaeth a lladdfa oherwydd cam resymeg y demagogiaid, a’r rhyfelgwn. ‘Gorffwysent hwy mewn hedd,’ yw’r weddi fud, wrth i ddyfeiswyr ffiaidd y trychinebau rewi ar eu pennau eu hunain, ym mangre las y Fall. Ac yno yr arteithir y gormeswyr gan eu meddyliau, fydd yn anochel a chynddeiriog o fachog, yn lle’r cyn-ddioddefwyr, am byth. Myfi a ddylai wybod, ond hyd yn oed yn waeth, fe’m trallodir gan y gobaith gwan a phoenus dros ben y medraf fi ddianc trwy aberthu’r ysglyfaeth briodol.The ideas of hope and goodness nourish and sustain us, but, sometimes, collecting poisonous recollections can lead to irritation, to excruciating discomfort, even to death. Furthermore, perverting thoughts will often be malicious. We need only remember those who have suffered persecution and slaughter because of the warped logic of the demagogues and the war-mongers. ‘May they rest in peace,’ is the mute prayer, whilst the hateful devisers of the disasters freeze alone, in Perdition’s blue place. And there the oppressors shall be tortured by their thoughts, which are unavoidable and rabidly barbed, in place of the former victims, for ever. I should know, but even worse, I am afflicted by the weak and extremely painful hope that I shall be able to escape by sacrificing the appropriate victim.
Moethau yw rhai meddyliau, Y rhain sydd yn dihuno ymdeimladau melysber a sain canu melodaidd. Dychmygwch arfordir wedi’i ysgeintio â heulwen, sy’n gyforiog o sawrau heilltion. Ac wedyn dyna wêr drewllyd a geir yn yr hen Leoedd Cwrdd i gyd. Gall rhai eraill, fodd bynnag, hyd yn oed wrth iddynt beri inni wylltio’n gaclwm, gynhyrchu perlau eithriadol o werthfawr o safbwynt trawsffurfio a thyfu. Dw i ddim yn gallu anghofio arogl cysegredig resin coed pin yn llosgi mewn thuser o electrwm i wahodd yr Hen Feistri Erchyll. Ond, eto i gyd, nid yw'n bosibl cyfaddef fy mod wedi dysgu dim byd o’r profiad hwn ond gloes ac ing. Mae gan gysyniadau neilltuol werthoedd amrywiol, ar wahanol adegau, mewn mannau diarffordd, ac i feddylwyr penodol. Felly, fe allwn ni drwco syniadau gyda’n gilydd mewn economi cyfnewidiol creadigaeth, hyd nes y daw arian cyfred myfyrio i ben.Some thoughts are luxuries. It is these that arouse most sweet feelings and the sound of melodious singing. Imagine a coast sprinkled with sunshine, teeming with salty smells. And then there’s stinking tallow to be found in all the old Meeting Places. Others, however, can, even as they cause us to get wild with rage, produce enormously valuable pearls from the viewpoint of transformation and growth. I can’t forget the sacred aroma of pine-tree resin burning in a thurible of electrum to invite the Terrible Old Masters. But then again, it is not possible to admit that I have learnt anything from this experience but pain and anguish. Particular concepts have variable values, on different occasions, in out-of-the-way places, and to definite thinkers. Thus, we can swap ideas with each other in an ever-changing economy of creativity, until the currency of contemplation comes to an end.
Arogleuon a theimladau yw angorau cryfion sy’n gadael inni gynnau meddyliau byw, wrth inni lunio straeon ein hoedlau’n hunain. Y digalondid llwyr ar dy ben dy hunan, ar ben y Tŵr Glas, o sylweddoli bod aberth plentyn wedi methu, ond bod colli cariad wedi llwyddo. Arogl siriol cnydau wedi’u cynaeafu un dydd twym adeg y Lleuad Fedi. Blas sur serch wedi’i chwalu yn gorwedd mewn cyrbibion ar waelod yr Afon Chwim. Sawr gwaed balch yn llifo fel rhyferthwy llithrig yn strydoedd Gwlad yr Addewid. Ias wefreiddiol buddugoliaeth yn aros i’w chipio ger Maes Brwyn. Mae’r rhain i gyd yn dal i ffrwydro yn f’ymwybod i‘m hatgoffa am ddigwyddiadau yn fy mywyd, am lawenydd neu erchyllterau.Smells and feelings are strong anchors which allow us to ignite living memories, as we fashion the stories of our own lives. The complete dejection, alone, atop the Blue Tower, from realising that the sacrifice of a child has failed, or that the loss of a lover has succeeded. The cheerful smell of harvested crops one warm day at the time of the September Moon. The sour taste of shattered love lying in fragments at the bottom of the Swift River. The odour of proud blood flowing like a slippery torrent in the streets of the Land of Promise. The electrifying thrill of victory waiting to be snatched by the Field of Rushes. All of these continue to explode in my consciousness to remind me about events in my life, about joy or atrocities.
Fel arfer, yn y fath atgofion, ymddengys y dylai sawrau atgas, fel drewdod sylffyraidd wyau drwg, rwystro gweithredu’n peiriannau recordio meddyliol – yn enwedig mewn achosion o anafiad a phoen. Ond nid o’m rhan i! I’r gwrthwyneb, cyn amled a chynddrwg y bydd y cymysgedd o gyffuriau a gymerwn i mor frwd er mwyn cysylltu â’r Bodau Arallfydol yn adlifo i losgi fy mol fel petai’n llawn asid organig. Cystal y gallaf fi gofio, neu ail-brofi, blas y lindys ar waelod yr ail botel o Decila Angheuol a yfwn i’n feunyddiol i ddileu’r ôl-fflachiau’n codi o’r llanastr wedi’i achosi trwy lyncu’r madarch hudol yn y lle cyntaf.Usually, in such memories, it appears that horrid smells, such as the sulphurous stench of bad eggs, should prevent the functioning of our mental recording machines – especially in cases of injury and pain. But not on my part! On the contrary, how often and how badly does the mixture of drugs I would take so keenly to consult with the Extra-terrestrial Beings, reflux to burn my belly as if it were full of organic acid! How well I can remember, or re-experience, the taste of the caterpillar at the bottom of the second bottle of Lethal Tequila which I would drink daily to obliterate the flash-backs arising from the mess caused by guzzling the magic mushrooms in the first place.
Bydd rhai meddyliau’n mynd yn sownd y tu hwnt i’w tiroedd prowlan arferol. Yn achos pobl yn dioddef o glefyd Alzheimer, yn anffodus, fe’u calcheiddir ar is-haenau soled o blaciau alwminiwm. Mewn achosion eraill, efallai y cânt eu golchi ymaith gan alcohol neu gyffuriau gwahanol. Ac wedyn, credir mai tueddu i gael eu dileu’n llwyr y bydd y rhain, yn amlach na heb, cyn cael cyfle i ymsefydlu, gan gael eu hamsugno drachefn yn y matrics o ddeunydd organig heb adael ôl. Ac felly y byddant yn ymadael â’r fuchedd hon heb yngan gair, mae’n ymddangos. Ond efallai mai hyd yn oed y meddyliau hyn a fydd yn darlledu eu cyfrinachau trwy’r gofod ar ffurf tonnau electromagnetig cyn marw, fodd bynnag.Some thoughts get stuck beyond their usual prowling-grounds. In the case of people suffering from Alzheimer's disease, unfortunately, they are calcified on solid sub-strata of aluminium plaques. In other cases, perhaps they get washed away by alcohol or different drugs. And then, it is believed that these tend to be deleted entirely, more often than not, before having a chance to establish themselves, being absorbed again in the matrix of organic material without leaving a trace. And so, they shall depart from existence without uttering a word, it appears. But maybe even these shall broadcast their secrets through space in the form of electromagnetic waves before dying, however.
Dyna braf yw’r fforwyr ar y saith môr seicig, wedi’u meddwi ar sylweddau a’u henwau yn rhedeg trwy’r wyddor i gyd o alffa i omega! Gwyliwch wrth iddynt ddiflannu’n llon o’r golwg i lawr tyllau mwydyn cosmig! Yno byddant yn chwilio mor frwd am bethau fydd yn dianc bob tro oblegid eu diffyg nodweddion diffiniol, sefydlog, megis serch, gwynfyd, a boddhad. Am ffodus ydynt er eu ffolineb! Ond nid hyn a ddigwydd yn f’achos i! Ni chaf fi anghofio, na diflannu. Ac fe fydd pob gweithred, boed yn dda neu’n ddrwg, yr wyf wedi’i chyflawni erioed, yn dod yn ôl i’m dirdynnu, ar y naill law oblegid diffyg haelioni, ar y llaw arall oherwydd y gormodedd o fileindra.How fine are the sailors on the seven psychic seas, intoxicated on substances whose names run through the whole alphabet from alpha to omega! Watch as they joyfully disappear from view down cosmic worm-holes! There they shall search so enthusiastically for things which always escape due to their lack of stable defining characteristics, such as love, bliss, and satisfaction. How fortunate are they despite their folly! But it is not this that shall happen in my case! I am not allowed to forget, nor to disappear. And every action, be it good or ill, I have ever done, shall come back to torment me, on the one hand because of the lack of generosity, on the other hand, due to the over-abundance of viciousness.
Nid yw’n bosibl i ni fodau dynol benderfynu a yw pob meddwl yn datblygu o’r un hynafiad cyffredin. Ond er hynny, yn aml, ni allwn ni lai na synnu at y patrymau cromatig cyfatebol a ymddengys yn yr amrywiadau di-rif ar y themâu mewnol mwyaf annhebygol. Efallai y sefydlir ein cofion cyntaf wrth inni nofio’n ddiogel yn y groth, pan boblogir lleoliad ein meddyliau â’r cymeriadau dychmygol o fythau ac â llwythau o ddelwau etifeddol. Nid ydym yn gweld y rhain gyda’n llygaid diniwed, wedi’u glynu ynghau trwy ddiogi, hurtrwydd, neu ofn. Yn hytrach y maent yn byw trwom, ynom, gyda ni. Ar hyd ein hoesau, byddant yn llithro eu tendriliau i bob agen o’n personoliaethau, gan reoli canfod a gweithredu. Hwynt-hwy fydd yn darparu’r templedi y’n rhaglennir ganddynt i hela a lladd, i fyw, a charu, a hilio, a marw.It is not possible for us human beings to decide whether every thought develops from the same common ancestor. But despite that, often, we cannot less than be amazed at the corresponding chromatic patterns that appear in the numberless variations on the most unlikely internal themes. Perhaps our earliest memories are laid down as we swim safely in the womb, when the locus of our thoughts is populated with imaginary characters from myths and tribes of inherited images. We do not see these with our innocent eyes, stuck shut through laziness, stupidity, or fear. Rather, they live through is, in us, with us. Throughout our lives, they slide their tendrils into every crevice of our personalities, controlling perception and action. It is they that provide the templates by which we are programmed to hunt and kill, to live, and love, and spawn, and die.
Yn y