#englyn

[pethaucwiar]

Y Fampir

y mae'n cysgu mewn casged - gwae ninnau !

gwan ei enaid caled;

croen llac, fel ei siaced

â'i ddagrau hen, mae'n ddi-gred

[rael-f-wae]

Soldiers' verse I thunder forth. This englyn is Welsh in form, sharp as spears and loud as horn. Standing stoutly, though quite short, three by three these troops report, quickly building mighty forts. This is natural to me; it is what I came to see pour from me, as storm from sea, on a magic fateful day when the sky and clouds were gray, when I, a dark star, sprung a ray, when I was forlorn with bile and my pick stuck ope this Nile, since here flowing all the while.

[graywyvern]

( via / via via @violetbondart )

Helix Noise - 230520.

"lego shiba"

too much fun for the small screen platforms in chaos gangrene i prowl among the darkling screnery remarking gray & green

lego shiba i distill dingleberries of my will & hope to avoid the killing locale of a fallow skull-hill

Mod dancer.

"Sad Song of Cuacuauhtzin

My heart craves the flowers, that they be in my hands. With songs I am saddened, I only try to compose songs on the earth. I, Cuacuauhtzin, with anxiety I desire the flowers, that they be in my hands, for I am dispossessed.

Where would we go that we never have to die? Though I be precious stone, though I be gold, I will be dissolved, there in the crucible melted down. I have only my life, I, Cuacuauhtzin, I am dispossessed.

You make resound your kettle drum of jade, your red and blue conch shell, you, Yoyontzin, Panting One. Now he has come, now the singer has risen. For a short time be happy, come and be present, those with the sad heart. Now he has come, now the singer has risen.

Open the corolla of your heart, let it tread the lofty heights. You have hated me, you have marked me for death. Now I go to His house, I will perish. Perhaps because of me you will weep, because of me you will be sad, you, my friend, but now I will go, now I am going to His house. Only this my heart tells, I will not return, never will come back to the earth, now I will go, I am going to His house.

Only useless effort, enjoy, enjoy, my friends. Should we not be happy, should we not have pleasure, my friends? I will take with me the beautiful flowers, the beautiful songs.

Never I do it in springtime, I alone am in need, alone am I, Cuacuauhtzin. Should we not enjoy, my friends? I will take with me the beautiful flowers, the beautiful songs."

--Fifteen Poets of the Aztec World, Miguel León-Portilla (1992)

Coming Soon.

[chaotic-hypnotic-erotic]

Englyn - Y Dewin Edrych trwy fy llygaid - i'r dyfodol, Byd materiol a byd ysbrydol Os oes un peth rwy'n ei garu mwya, Mae'n cadw popeth cyfrinachol.

[tinknevertalks]

I hate my life. I was writing a post about englynion and strict meter Welsh verses and I PRESSED THE WRONG NOTIFICATION SO TUMBLR ATE IT! *Cries*

Let it be known that I bow down to anyone who writes englynion like R. Williams Parry, or to anyone who can write poems full of cynghaneddion (found out the term in English is 'chiming' because that's the sound the words make).

And now, the first of Parry's Englynion Coffa Hedd Wyn, because it is awe inspiring to me (and what I instantly think of when someone says the word englyn).

Y bardd trwn dan bridd tramor, - y dwylaw

Na ddidolir rhagor:

Y llygaid dwys dan ddwys ddôr,

Y llygaid na all agor.

And now, to bed, before Tumblr eats this post.

[thepatchworkcrow]

Hunters' Engyln

Hunters’ Engyln

Over several months, I’ve been playing around with different poetry styles and formats, and so as Winter rears its head, a snow and Wylde Hunt inspired group of englynion for you all to enjoy!

Heavy laden with snow, the pines leaning With ice gleaming—bend in time To hoofbeats: the seven-tined

Lord of Hunters, he cloaked in feathers comes. Beating hearts drum—break tethers— Vanish in mists and…

[mimichootings]

Englyn in Dispraise of Max Boyce

Max: loathed tit and malign turd - what junk's Each joke's the man's uttered! Torn in parts are hearts when's heard The voice of Boyce the Bastard.

[thespeckledscribe-blog]

Some exciting progress!

I guess this has been my first proper week of solid work on the MPhil. Or at least the first week that I feel I've made progress in three places;

1. Transcribed my first text!

2. Discovered a previously unknown englyn by poet Dafydd Bennwyn

2. Found some interesting connections between my MS and Peniarth 15.

Pretty exciting eh?

To be fair though, my transcription was quite bad. I regularly mixed up 'r', and 'b', and 'h', and pretty much missed every 'w'. But still! It's a start. I've now created a key to dear old Siancyn's handwriting, so hopefully that will help me in future transcriptions.

Perhaps the most exciting development of this week was the englyn by Dafydd Bennwyn. I've known that a 'D. Bennwyn' had glossed the MS in a few places, I just had no idea of the name's significance. Of course my supervisor jumped on it immediately, and from what we can tell from the first line index in Dafydd Huw Evans' collection, it doesn't exist elsewhere. Which is awesome. The actual content of the englyn looks like it's something to do with the signs of the Zodiac; twin, archer, maiden, scorpion etc. It looks like the kind of thing that was scribbled down on the page quickly before Dafydd forgot it (and the handwriting is very hard to read) but it's exciting!

There also seems like there may be some link between my MS and Peniarth 15, which contains 9 of the same texts. A couple of those texts ('Llythyr Brenhin India', for example) have been organised into a stemma before, with 'some kind of link' between 5267 and Pen 15. I'm hoping that a more in-depth comparison of all these shared texts, may shed some light on the relationship. So that's the plan for this coming week.

Ooh, and I've realised that I use quite a lot of technical terms above. I'll list them below, and then create a glossary page if I can. I realise there may be quite a few occasion where I casually drop in a difficult word. If there's something you don't understand; let me know!

Till next time, 

The Speckled Scribe.

Glossary of terms and abbreviations

MS- Manuscript

MSS- Manuscripts

englyn- a type of short welsh poem, consisting of three to four lines. They are restricted to very strict rules of rhyme and metre. Read more here.

Siancyn- The main hand in my MS. 

hand- the scribe writing. One MS can have many different hands, either in the main body of the text, or in the glosses.

gloss/ glosses- notes and annotations on the text. Often as interesting as the text itself!

Dafydd Ben(n)wyn- 16th century Glamorganshire poet

Stemma- A method used in textual criticism as a means by which to show the relationship between texts in different MS versions. A family tree of sorts. Read more here; I'll try to find a picture of one somewhere!

Textual Criticism- The study of texts and their differences between MSS, aiming to discover the relationships between them and to provide good editions of the texts. Sort of. It's complicated, but basically just 'how to edit a MS'.

And the collection by Huws Evans that I mentioned is;

D. Huw Evans, The life and work of Dafydd Benwyn, (1981)

[graywyvern]

( via / via )

"And I do love using the word influencer to talk about any of these heartless posturing cruelty-peddling alpha male half-melted douche-popsicles, because it genuinely seems to bother them to be lumped in with a job they all tend to associate purely with women they disdain, when people like Jordan Peterson and Andrew Tate and even Joe Rogan have never been any different from a girl in tight pants hawking essential oils and sad neutral home decor on Instagram."

"short shrift on the longbow"

clown-nose orange instead of red halcyon the spring but arid nothing new this risible dread stirring whirring like bat radar

Wolf.

"The atmosphere he had noticed on the upper levels was a clear odor now--sleepy, half-remembered, smiling, sad and quite strong. That is the way Time smells." R.A. Lafferty (via @djfrankelee)

Whispered into the Afternoon.

[chaotic-hypnotic-erotic]

Englyn - Y Cerdiau Tarot Lluniau bach o'r fath - mor wahanol Lluniau statig, nid symudol Marwolaeth a hen meudwyon, Yn dweud wrthych stori eich dyfodol.

[cimmerianborderpatrol]

Witch

High above the misty fir trees, on her broom the witch observes me with a dark intensity. She wants back her property.

© John Michael Taylor 2012 - http://cimmerianborderpatrol.tumblr.com

[barcud]

Lleian addfwyn y llwyni - hafwisg Mehefin amdani; Ond un waith y daw'r dinoethi  Ar y gwrych oer, gwrach yw hi.

- J. Lloyd Jones 1967

[graywyvern]

( via / via )

Rainy overpass.

    vortex nod from stark feather     axiom

one more addled     uffish crow

Woman in White.

puffed-up & insubstantial dreamers in the final days we meet again in the funest prism where indigo rays dwell

Black & white abstraction.

[graywyvern]

( via / via )

Next time somebody tries to say AI art isn't art.

"The stars are the tears of the gods, weeping for the sins of humanity. " --@gods_txt

Who is up so early the sun is not up yet?

   ping pong with the octopoid    Wizard of Oz to Pink Floyd bright sunlit escapade rounded with a       sound sleep & spinning void

The old war tank slowly rolled up the village. In spite of the blistering cold, a few remaining residents gathered around.

[graywyvern]

( via / via )

There was dancing and much celebration.

"If women's writing is a house of many mansions, could it be that we have been reluctant to investigate its darkest corners, to move from its well-lit rooms down into the shadowy cellars? (Alison Light on Ivy Compton- Burnett)" --@SimonDuring (via @IComptonBurnett)

The winning ticket!

Ex-Mystic

Years, great years of denial etch their bounds, soul-vitriol on the quondam cathedral: stones, keeps reive leaving just the gargoyle...

Four Reasons for an AI Friend.

"There is no general doctrine which is not capable of eating out our morality if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men."

--George Eliot, Middlemarch (Chapter 61) via @RohanMaitzen (via @LeviStahl)

Everything passes, but not everything is forgotten.

[graywyvern]

( @ai_curio / via )

Misty Mountain.

capacitor of song oreo without icing

a dark path looms · sanguine i creep further     in the dearth of dancing

Fifty Days at Iliam.

"The people who couldn’t tolerate wearing a mask are now convinced they’d love a civil war." --@mollyjongfast

Late Night Visit to the Chapel.

furrow lampad unimpeded progress oreo without icing

Nibelungfish tarry in the cursed cadastre

A Tornado Destroying an Elven Town.