EMYR HUMPHRIES
The Ancestor Worship Cycle
lV An Apple Tree and a Pig
(Oian a parchellan, ni hawdd cyscaf
Rhag godwrdd y galar y sydd arnof)
l
All men wait for battle and when it comes
Pass along the sword's edge their resilient thumbs.
Men clasp in faithless arms their sobbing wives
Tasting even in the salt kiss the bliss pricking points of knives.
Men clip on armour and see in their children's eyes
Their swollen images, their godlike size.
Men assemble together, create a new sea
That floods into battle. Men become free
Of the dull bonds of life, become locked in a fight
In love in league with death, lost in icy delight.
2
In such a frenzy I slaughtered my sister's son.
My sword cut open his face and I screamed as though I had won
Glory to nurse in the night, until I turned and saw
The flesh of Gwenddolau, the young king who loved me, raw
And Rhydderch's sword dull with Gwenddolau's blood
And his great mouth trumpeting joy. Ah then I understood
That rooted and nourished in my own affectionate heart
Was the spitting devil tearing our world apart.
3
When I fled to the wood, alone I lay under a tree
Still hearing the clash of our swords, still dumb in my agony.
So much despair had crowded into my heart
My tongue was cold, speech a forgotten art.
As I lay in the wood I suffered the germ of peace
To penetrate my veins like a lethal disease.
I have lost all desire to communicate with men.
My sighs do not disturb the building wren.
An apple tree and a pig: these are my friends
With whom I share my wisdom that no longer pretends
To be wise, since nothing my wisdom brings
Can restore the lost kingdom or challenge the armour of kings.
I have eaten the apple of knowledge and all I know
Is that love must fail and lust must overthrow
And in the nights of winter when the ice-winds howl
A pity and a terror fasten themselves on my soul
And I cry upon death to wrap his white redress
Without mercy about the stillnessof the merciless
And remedy my madness with long silence.
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