Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
in these stones lieth
rain, never-ending
turning streams into rivers
turning the wheel
the wheel
the wheel
breaking the stones
the bones
the bones
silver and lead
bring out your dead
count them
count them
bring out your dead
Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
work them to death
for a crust of dark bread
darken the doorsteps
with the smuts on your breath
put them in barracks
work them to death
poison their bodies
with deadening lead
filling their pockets
with bones and dread
Cymru am byth
here, there lieth
the boys and the men
the drowned and the bloated
for the silver and lead
Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
for the silver and lead
bring out your dead
turning them over
for the silver and lead
count them
recount them
we walk on the blood
of the boys and the men
of the gone and the dead
bring out your dead
cast in silver and lead
Hiraeth
Hiraeth
in these stones lieth
pray, a moment of silence
let them sing, witness
the troubles they had
Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad
Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
For dVerse Poetics this week, Dora invites us to consider stone our muse for our poetic wanderings, whether it be gemstones, vast rocks, or somewhere in-between.
Where I live in Wales, I am surrounded by quiet hills and mountains that once roared with industry, stretching back over two thousand years. Whether it was silver, lead, copper or gold, the people of this part of our country mined it – you can only imagine the dangerous conditions in which they worked.
I chose to give a voice to the people of the past who worked in terrible conditions to bring the minerals out of the very rock of this land, weaving in some of the Welsh language at the same time. I have included explanations of the words and phrases that I have used below:
Hiraeth – a deep longing for something, especially your home
Cymru am byth – Wales forever
Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad – Land! Land! I am true to my land! This is from the national anthem of Wales, Land of My Fathers.
If you would like to join us in writing a poem inspired by stones, precious or otherwise, click on the link above and join us!
(Photo of the Cwm Elan lead mine, from 28dayslater.co.uk).
I remember my father waxing lyrical about Wales, where he spent the war with his two aunts, and I have visited too, the last time this year, among the hills and mountains of North Wales. My husband went on the Penrhyn zipwire for his seventieth birthday and I marvelled at the slate quarry. Well done, Freya, for giving a voice to the people who worked in terrible conditions. The repetition works so well in this poem, as do the rhymes and the rhythm, which is like the picks and later machines that were used in mining.
Thank you so much, Kim. Your husband is a brave man! I’ve seen footage of that zipwire journey and it makes my knees tremble! I feel bit strange, loving the remnants of the old mines that I see around us, but also mourning the fate of the men and boys who had no choice but to work there.
I felt such deep sadness reading this, and it made me think of the little boys in the Congo working the lithium mines for thieving profiteers. This lament I feel echoes through the ages, through every land, and your use of Welsh reminds us of that, the repetitions through history and literally in sound in your poem, a chant of accusation and solidarity with those who suffered and still suffer so much. When we forget them, I think we lose something of our soul. The ending refrain in an unfamiliar tongue (to me) by the end of the poem contains the sum of these emotions in an uncanny way.
Thank you so much, Dora. Yes, the ongoing maltreatment of the miners around the world, for our benefit, should not be forgotten. The hewing of rock for minerals is a dirge as old as time, I feel.
Epic poem, Freya! This one has real weight to it. The repetition makes it feel almost like a chant or memorial song, and I love the idea of the stones themselves being witnesses to everything that happened there. “We walk on the blood / of the boys and the men” is especially haunting. My Mom’s side is from over there so it resonates a bit louder with me! Much love! 💙
Thank you so much. Yes, I was trying to imbue a chant, perhaps in time to the hewing of coal, or the turning of the wheel’s of the carts pulled by the pit ponies or small boys.
Aptly, a song for Welsh miners. Your poem is so full of passion. I come from a mining family, have seen the way coal fall tattoos a man.
Thank you, Kim. My partner’s family were miners, on both sides, going back generations. The marks are physical and spiritual, I think.
This is a haunting piece that overturns the traditional, nostalgic concept of hiraeth (Welsh for a deep longing for home) by grounding it in the grim of Welsh industrialisation – Freya wedi’i hysgrifennu mor hyfryd – I wish I had written it ❤️
Thank you so much, Ange. There is a house in the village that next to ours that used to be where they would pay the miners their weekly wage. Every time we drive past the old stone steps where the miners would walk up to go into the office, I can’t help but think how terrifying their work was, how exhausted they were and how underpaid.
This is beautifully haunting, Freya ~
Thank you, Sanaa!
This poem is one I won’t forget easily. I enjoyed how you have woven in the welsh language. It gives the poem a haunting movement.
Thank you! I’m so pleased you enjoyed it and could feel the haunting nature of it.
I love your creative poem, Freya. Very well written!
Thank you!
You are most welcome.
I love your celebration of your Welsh culture and landscape – beautifully written – Jae
Thank you so much, Jae.
This is amazing, and understanding the hardship of mining in the past and even today lends itself deep into the culture of those lands… we also have mines in many places, and in some they run deep with memories.
Thank you, Björn. Yes, mining run deep across so many lands, with so many memories. My partner’s ancestry has mining running through its veins.
Oh how i luv the musicality of this poem
I must be read more than once for sheer joy of its sounding
Much love
Thank you so much, Gillena!
work them to death
for a crust of dark bread
darken the doorsteps
put them in barracks
work them to death
Such a tough life for the miners! Great rhyming Freya matched with the repetitions brilliantly expressed!
Hank