Showing posts with label Clogyrnach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clogyrnach. Show all posts

Saturday, 4 April 2026

4 - Yr Eos

Day 4 of NaPoWriMo and I made a spreadsheet to give me random prompts of form and topic. While testing it out the other night, it gave me “Blank Verse” and “Rhiannon”, who happens to be one of my favourite mythological figures. (I was once cast as her in an audiodrama and I nearly expired of excitement – the title for this came about because the sound designer used nightingale birdsong behind my voice.) She has no connection to inspiration/ the awen that I know of, being a shrewd stateswoman and strong woman associated with horses and sovereignty (and sarcasm), but her advice to go slow and her association with (healing) birdsong turned into an exploration of patience in association with creativity. And I thoroughly ignored the notion of blank verse and used a series of chained clogyrnachau instead…

If you’re subscribed to my Patreon, you can hear an exclusive recording of this (and other things) read aloud. The recording is here.


She is still with us, don’t you know?
She tells us: “Take your time, be slow…
“The trees are heavy
“with birds, so merry.
“Listen, let the words flow.

“Child, the muse exacts no levy,
“the fruit comes in its time, very
“generous and true,
“because it is you,
“and creation’s messy!

“Cariad, take the longer view:
“the words will come out when they’re due.
“If shy, you must coax,
“not lash them to yokes.
“Trust in patient virtue.”

Her voice lingers beyond the oaks,
I close my eyes, let it invoke
magic, sweet and slow
(she’s still here, you know).
Let her guide my penstrokes.

A scan of a black and white illustration in a lithographic style on slightly discoloured, greyish page, where letters from the other side show through faintly. A white woman with dark hair sits side-saddle on a pure white horse with a long mane and tail, which is rearing slightly. The woman wears a long, very dark overdress dress with lighter, looping, swirling patterns reminiscent of paisley shapes and a white wimple and underdress. She has a calm, determined expression, and her arms are adorned with several bracelets. She is controlling the horse lightly, with only one hand on the reins. They seem to have paused in front of a thickly briared hillock with a stunted, wind-bent tree on top. Beyond the hillock is a large hill with a few bushes and trees on it, and a large fortification at the top. Faintly visible in the background is what appears to be a male rider coming towards Rhiannon from the direction of the fortified hill. Beyond him is an uncertainty of scribble that may be suggestive of a large group of armed men on horseback. The sky seems to be quite cloudy. At the bottom of the picture is a name, which research indicates is S. Williams.
Image from the Lady Charlotte Guest translation of The Mabinogion, by S. Williams, via Wikipedia

If you’d like to try out a clogyrnach or two, why not use my Repeating and Concrete Forms spreadsheet, which also has some syllable-counting forms like this, to help you?

Monday, 11 April 2022

2022.7 Theft

Four behind on the month’s target, I thought I’d do something short and sweet. Instead of one clogyrnach, I ended up with six loosely themed elements of… something… which is definitely not sweet…

The boy stood on the burning deck,
all focus on one fiery speck;
dancing, twisting, wild,
conflagration’s child;
art summoned from the wreck.

I think that I shall never see
our master go down on one knee,
beg us to forgive
ways he made us live;
the fire would set him free.

I wandered, lonely as a cloud
away from that upsetting crowd,
laughing at the rules,
playing folk for fools.
I’m sure that’s not allowed.

And did those feet in ancient time
ensure that they were shod to climb
generations hence,
other spirits flensed,
their living made a crime?

Come live with me and be my love!
The song sung to their god above;
blessings trickled down,
cudgel and the clown;
their powers hand in glove.

Dark hills at evening in the west,
the barrows quietly attest:
Kings and Fools and all,
destined to the thrall
of our cold, final jest



A white person wearing what looks like the black jacket of a security guard, complete with arm badge, and black gloves, is walking through an art gallery with a small painting in a gold frame under one arm. The painting appears to be of a sailing ship which looks as though it's being frantically scrambled to prevent capsizing against a dramatically cloudy sky and atop tumultuous waves. If is means anything to you, the painting is apparently "The Storm on the Sea of Galilee" by Rembrandt.
Image from CrimeReads

What is this piece or set of pieces? I don’t entirely know yet. But I do know a lot more about iambic tetrameter now, so that’s nice! Hooray for April, month of first drafts…


Friday, 28 April 2017

2017.28 - Flight

She’s rapt in jungle far away
Bright colours beg her: one more day
Water seems to sigh
Begs to know quite why
She’d quit its gentle sway

They’re wrapped in jumpers far away
While grey clouds blanket every day
April’s face a lie,
Changeable and sly
And driech seems here to stay

The time is spent; she’s on her way
Due North and East in half a day
Touch the shifting sky
Land to be shown why
Warmth blossoms here, dear stray.


A soppy, personal one, for once. My partner is currently 5,425 miles away. Every so often we get texts about snakes and monkeys and sloths and white water rafting at peculiar times of the day and night. She’s back in a few days’ time. Aww. Anyway, this is a clogyrnach; a Welsh poetry form.

Saturday, 30 April 2016

2016.17 Contradiction

Winter stirs the blossom white
Our Springtime warmth is out of sight.
All I dare to hold
Is governed by the cold -
The sun seems far too slight.

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

2015.29 - Afon Tam

She says she wants to be a stone
The weight of care is hers alone
Tree calls out to sky
Water beckons why
My fire won't
Bring her home.

_________

I've been meaning to play with Welsh poetry forms for a while. This is a clogyrnach.