|
Y Bont
gan Y Saer Maestrolgar
(Kevin Rottet)
Y ddarn fuddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog,
Cwrs Cymraeg Y Bont Aur, 1998
Cyfieithiad Saesneg
English Translation
Nol I Dudalen Gartref Cystadleuaeth Y Gadair
Back To The Chair Competition Home Page
|
|
Ffrindiau mawr oedd John Iwan a fi. Mae llu o atgofion gyda fi o'r oriau
a dreulion ni gyda'n gilydd: prynhawnau wedi eu treulio yn Coney Island; ein taith wersyllu yng Ngogledd Maine;
y nosweithiau ger lle-tân yn nhy fy mam, yn gwrando ar storïau John am ei ieuenctid yng Nghymru. Ond
yr atgof yr wyf yn hoffach o'i ystyried yw dyddiau'r haf pan aem ni i bysgota mewn nant fechan, dawel yn agos i
fy mhentref i.
Ein hoff hamdden oedd pysgota. Yr oedden ni'n mynd â'n gwiail a bwced
o bryfed genwair ac eistedd ar bont droed wedi ei gwneud o bren. Yr oedden ni'n eistedd yno am oriau, ein traed
yn hongian tair troedfedd uwchben y dwr, ein llinynnau yn plymio dyfnderoedd y nant i ddenu rhyw bysgodyn at ein
bachau. Nid oedd llawer o sgwrs rhyngom ni pan oedden ni'n eistedd ar ben y bont, rhag ofn dychryn y psygod, ond
rhwng John a fi nid oedd rhaid siarad bob amser. Ond y funud y teimlai un ohonom ni ei linyn yn cael ei siglo gan
rhyw bysgoden oedd wedi cael ei ddal, byddai'r awyrgylch yn newid yn gyflym gyda'r cyffro. Rhyw fath o gystadleuaeth
oedd rhyngom ni i weld pa un ohonom ni a allai gael y pysgodyn mwyaf.
Bu farw John tair blynedd yn ôl. Yr oedden ni yng Ngogledd talaith
New York er mwyn cael gwneud tipyn o daith mewn rhafft ar afon gref sy'n boblogaidd gyda phobl ddewr yn chwilio
am anturiaeth. Mae'n galed i mi feddwl yn awr am y daith honno a'm ffolineb ieuanc. Ar ddechrau'r daith yr oedd
yr afon yn eithaf tawel, ond wrth i ni hwylio, daeth gwynt a glaw i siglo'n cwch. John oedd y callaf o'r ddau ohonom
ni, ond er iddo brotestio, anogais i ni barhau tipyn yn bellach ar yr afon er gwaethaf y storm. Cryfheuodd y tonnau
a dymchwelodd y gwyntoedd ein rhafft. Y peth nesaf yr wyf yn ei gofio yw deffro yn saff ar y lan, a John wedi boddi.
Nid oes rhaid canolbwyntio ar fy myrbwylltra yn awr, oddieithr i ddweud
bod teimlad fy mod yn euog o ladd fy nghyfaill wedi aros yn gryf ar fy meddwl. A allai'r rhai marw faddau i'r rhai
byw eu hurthrwydd?
Gwneuthum sawl peth i geisio anghofio yr a oedd wedi digwydd. Teithiais
dros y wlad a threulio wythnosau yng Nghaliffornia ymlith ifainc y traethau. Ymgofrestrais mewn cyrsiau, a graddio
gydag anrhydeddau. Cwrddais â merch o'r enw Sally, a sythriais mewn cariad â hi. Prynon ni dy hardd
yn New York. Ond nid oedd dim yn llwyddo i wneud i mi ddianc rhag y syniad mai fi oedd yn gyfrifol am farwolaeth
ffind fy machgendod.
Un dydd daeth syniad newydd i'm meddwl. Penderfynais fynd i Gymru i ymweld
â theulu John a oedd wedi fy ngwahodd sawl gwaith i ddod dros y môr i gael gweld lle cafodd John ei
fagu. Gyda thipyn o ansicrwydd y disgynnais o'r awyren, â'm calon yn curo yn galed. Pa fath o dderbyniad
a gawn gan y teulu hwn? Yr oeddwn i heb gwrdd â nhw, ond ar ôl holl storïau John yr oedd gen i
syniadau eithaf clir a chryf o beth i'w ddisgwyl oddi wrthynt.
Yr oedden nhw yr un mor garedig ag yr oeddwn i'n meddwl. Aethon ni yn ôl
i'w ty a oedd yn blas mawr yng Nghogledd Cymru. Ar ôl cinio a sgwrs es i'r gwely mewn ystafell fawr a thwt.
Y prynhawn ar ôl i mi gyrraedd, penderfynais fynd am dro ar diroedd
y teulu Iwan er mwyn gweld lle yr oedd fy ffrind wedi treulio ei ieuenctid cynnar. Rhodiais heibio i lawer o goed,
i fyny ac i lawer sawl bryn yn meddwl am blentyn bach yn chwarae ar y llethrau hynny.
Cyrhaeddais afonig fechan â phont gerrig drosti. Yr oedd hen onnen
enfawr yn sefyll ar y lan ar bwys y bont. Cerddais ar y llwybr caregog, ac aros yng nghanol y bont. Eisteddais
arni â'm coesau yn hongian uwchben y dwr yn union fel pan oeddwn i'n fachgen yn pysgota gyda John. Edrychais
ar y dwr oer yn rhuthro heibio o dan fy nhraed, yn fas ond yn swnllyd, â physgod bach yn nofio, yr haul yn
taro'u cefnau ariannaidd. Ddygodd fy nghof fi yn ôl i'm bachgendod, a gadewais i'm cofion ailadrodd swn ein
lleisiau ifainc yn chwerthin ar ôl i un ohonom ni ddal pysgodyn. A dechreuais fod yn sicr, wrth gofio pethau
fy ieuenctid, fod John wedi maddau i mi.
Cerddais yn ôl i ffermdy, wedi fy modloni ac yn ysgafnach gan bod
y baich yr oedd arnaf wedi diflannu.
"Beth dych chi'n feddwl am ein fferm ni?" gofynnod Mrs. Iwan i
mi pan es i mewn i'r ty.
"O, mae'r goedwig yn ddel iawn," atebais, "a'r afon yn hyfryd
gyda'i phont fach. Eisteddes yno am awr jest yn meddwl."
"Pont? Pa bont?" ebe hithau. "S'dim pont ar ein tir ni."
"Beth ydych chi'n olygu? Mi nes i eistedd ar ryw bont fechan ddel wedi'i
gwneud allan o gerrig, sy'n mynd dros yr afonig."
"Wel, dw i erioed wedi gweld pont ar ein tir ni. Rhaid eich bod chi
'di mynd yn bellach nag o'ch chi'n meddwl."
"Rhaid i mi ddeud, dw i'n siwr adawais i mo'ch tir chi."
Ar ôl y sgwrs hwn, yr oeddwn i'n barod i fynd â Mrs. Iwan am
dro i ddangos iddi'r bont lle yr oeddwn i wedi treulio awr mor hyfyryd. Wrth i ni gerdded, disgrifiais i'r onnen
fawr oedd yn sefyll ar bwys y bont. Pan gyrhaeddon ni'r lle, welon ni'r onnen fawr yr oeddwn i wedi edrych arni
yn fanwl. Ond nid oedd pont yn ei hymyl. Dim ond glaswellt oedd yn tyfu lle gwelais y bont yn gynharach.
Ai ryw fath o freuddwyd, ai arwydd o fyd yr ysbrydion oedd yr hyn a ddigwyddodd
y prynhawn hwnnw, ni allaf ddweud. Ond dychwelais i'r Taleithiau yn sicrach nag erioed yr oedd popeth yn iawn rhwng
fy hen ffrind â fi.
|
|
The Bridge
gan Y Saer Maestrolgar
(Kevin Rottet)
The winning piece in the Cymdeithas Madog chair competition,
Cwrs Cymraeg Y Porth Aur, 1998
Translation by John Otley
Cerdd Wreiddiol (Yn Y Gymraeg)
Original Poem (In Welsh)
Nol I Dudalen Cartref Cystadleuaeth Y Gadair
Back To The Chair Competition Home Page
|
|
John Iwan and I were great friends. I have many memories of the time we
spent together: afternoons spent at Coney Island; our camping trip in nothern Maine; the evenings by the fireplace
in my mother's house, listeing to John's stories about his youth in Wales. But the memory that I'm most fond of
considering is the summer days when we would fish in a quiet, little stream near my village.
Our favourite leisure activity was fishing. We would take our rods and a
bucket of worms and sit on a footbridge made of wood. We would sit there for hours, our feet dangling three feet
above the water, our lines plumbing the depths of the stream to attract some fish at our hooks. There wasn't a
lot of talk between us when we were sitting on the bridge, for fear of scaring the fish., but between John and
I there was no need to talk all the time. But the minute one of us would feel his line being shaken by some fish
that had been caught, the atmosphere would quickly change with the excitement. There was a kind of competition
between us to see which one of use could catch the biggest fish.
John died three years ago. We were in northern New York State in order to
have a bit of trip on a raft on a strong river that's popular with brave people looking for adventure. It's hard
for me to think now about that trip and my youthful folly. At the start of the trip, the river was rather quite,
but as we sailed, wind and rain came to shake our boat. John was the wiser of the two of us, and although he protested,
I urged us to continue a bit further on the river despite the storm. The waves became stronger and the wind destroyed
our raft. The next think I remember is waking safe on the bank, and John had drowned.
There's no need to focus on my rashness now, except to say that there is
a feeling that I'm guilty of killing my has stayed strongly on my mind. Can the dead forgive the living their stupidity?
I did several things to try to forget what had happened. I travelled across
the country and spent weeks in California among the young beach people. I registered for courses, and graduated
with honours. I met a girl by the name of Sally, and fell in love with her. We bought a beautiful house in New
York. But nothing succeeded in making me escape the idea that I was responsibile for the death of my boyhood friend.
One day, a new idea came to my mind. I decided to go to Wales to visit John's
family who had invited me several times to come over the sea to see where John was raised. I descended from the
airplane with a bit of uncertainty, my heart beating hard. What kind of receiption would I have from this family?
I hadn't met them, but from John's stories, I had quite clear and strong ideas what to expect from them.
They were as kind as I thought. We went back to their house, a large mansion
in North Wales. After dinner and a chat, I went to bed in a large, tidy room.
The afternoon after arriving, I decided to go for a walk on the Iwan family
lands in order to see where my friend had spent his early youth. I walked past many trees, up and down several
hills, thinking about the little child playing on those slopes.
I reached a little stream with a stone bridge across it. There was large,
old ash tree standing on the bank near the bridge. I walked on the stone path, and waited in the middle of the
bridge. I sat on it with my legs dangling above the water just like when I was a boy fishing with John. I looked
at the cold water rushing past below my feet, shallow but noisy, with little fish swimming, the sun striking their
silvery backs. My memory took me back to my boyhood days, and I let my memories repeat the sound of our young voices
laughing after one of us caught a fish. And I started to be sure, remembering things of my youth, that John had
forgiven me.
I walked back to the farmhouse, contented and lighter because the burden
that I had felt had disappearred.
"What do you think about our farm?", asked Mrs. Iwan to me when
I went into the house.
"Oh, the forest is very pretty," I answered, "and the river's
lovely with it's little bridge. I sat on it for an hour just thinking."
"Bridge? What bridge?", she said. "There's no bridge on our
land."
"What do you mean? I sat on some pretty little bridge made of stone
that goes over the stream."
"Well, I've never seen a bridge on our land. You must have gone further
than you thought."
"I have to say, I'm sure that I didn't leave your land."
After this conversation, I was ready to take Mrs. Iwan for a walk to show
her the bridge where I'd spend such a lovely hour. As we walked, I described the large ash tree that was standing
near the bridge. When we reached the place, I saw the large ash tree that I had looked at closely. Ond there was
no bridge near it. Only grass that was growing where I saw the bridge earlier.
Was it some kind of dream, a sign from the world of spirits that happened
that afternoon? I can't say. But I returned to the States mor sure than ever that everything was fine between my
old friend and me.
|
