These poems were first published in The Brazen Head
https://brazen-head.org/2024/08/19/three-translations-from-culhwch-ac-owen/
(I.m Michael Alexander)
Translating Culhwch ac Olwen.
In popular films the sexy treasure hunter/archaeologist
(they conflate the two, much to my trowel wielding friends’ dismay)
who’s fluent in every lost forgotten ancient language,
confronting the inscription on the recently uncovered wall,
or gazing at the long lost rediscovered legendary text,
looks, then translates, without a pause, the symbols
into fluent, idiomatic, contemporary American.
The reality goes more like this:
Kilyd son of Kledon Wledic
Wanted a wife as noble as himself.
Here is the woman he wanted.
Goleudyt daughter of Anlawd Wledic.
So far so good.
After they stayed together What? Gwest Ah, see note.
They spent the night together. Is that too direct?
The verb’s related to the one for copulation.
They came together. After they were married
….bland. After they slept together,
no, the story teller could have used kysgu gan.
The cruder options? No. Not here. What follows?
The country went to pray they ?might have? offspring
And they got a child/boy through the prayers of the country.
And from the hour she captured, caught?
The next word’s definitely ‘pregnant’. Another note.
‘Became pregnant’ though literally ‘caught pregnancy’.
As though it were an illness, perhaps better than ‘fell pregnant’
which evokes abrupt decline, or woman, falling?
Then she went wild/feral. Another note.
‘She went mad’. Mad or wild is somewhere you go to
in this case beyond the civilised boundaries.
She’s gone mad and won’t come near a building.
Wouldn’t enter a building?
And from the time that she was pregnant,
She went wild and wouldn’t enter any building.
And when her time came, she came to her good sense.
You go mad but come to your senses. The payoff’s here,
the sudden twist estranging your own language.
You go out of your mind as though it were a car,
and you could leave it in the car park to return to
when finished being mad and needed it again. Anyway,
what’s next? Pigs!? What? We’re up to line 7, only
one thousand two hundred and thirty eight to go.
May I marry your daughter?
(The giant Ysbaddaden Pencawr knows he will die when Olwen, his beautiful daughter, marries. Understandably, he doesn’t welcome her suitors. But Culhwch has been told that if he doesn’t marry Olwen, he will never marry anyone. He and his six companions set out to ask the giant for her hand in marriage.What isn’t stated but becomes obvious is that the giant can’t be killed until his daughter is married. )
They killed the nine gatekeepers,
and not a man cried out.
They killed their nine huge mastiffs;
not one so much as squealed.
And so they came into the hall.
‘Ysbaddaden Pencawr! Greetings
in the name of God and man!’
‘You, where are you going?’
‘We seek your daughter, Olwen,
for Culhwch son of Kilyd.’
‘Where are those rascal servants?
Where are those ruffians of mine?
Raise up the forks under my eyelids
so I can see my future son in law.’
This they did. ‘Come back tomorrow
I’ll have an answer for you then.’
He had three stone spears beside him,
each tipped with poison.
As they turned to go he seized one
and flung it after them.
Bedwyr caught it and hurled it back,
piercing the giant through his knee cap.
‘Cursed savage son in law!
It will be worse for me when I go downhill.
Like the sting of a gadfly,
the poisoned iron has hurt me.
Cursed be the smith who made it
and the anvil on which it was forged.‘
They stayed that night at Custennin’s house.
And on the second day, they set out to the hall,
in majesty, with fine combs in their hair.
‘Ysbaddaden Pencawr,
give us your daughter.
In return for her dowry and marriage fee
to you and her two kinswomen.
And if we don’t get her from you;
you’ll get your death from us.’
‘Her four great-grandmothers
and her four great-grandfathers
are still alive. I must consult them.’
‘You do that. We’ll go eat.’
He took the second spear
and hurled it after them.
Menw mab Teirgwaedd
caught it and threw it back.
It pierced the centre of his chest
and sprung out the small of his back.
‘Cursed savage son in law.
The pain of this hard iron
is like the sting of a horse-leech.
Cursed be the forge wherein it was heated.
Now, when I go uphill,
there will be a tightness in my chest,
stomach aches and frequent nausea.’
They went to their food.
On the third day they came to the court.
‘Ysbaddaden Pencawr,
stop throwing spears at us.
Do not wish hurt and harm
and death upon yourself.’
‘My eyelids have fallen over my eyeballs-
Where are my servants, raise up the forks
so I may look on my future son in law.’
They arose, and as they rose,
he took the third spear
and hurled it at them. This time,
Culhwch caught it and threw it back,
and as he wished, it pierced the eyeball
went through and out the back of his neck.
‘Cursed savage son in law.
As long as I live the sight in one eye
will be worse than the other.
Whenever I walk in the wind it will water.
I’ll have headaches and giddiness
at the start of each moon.
Cursed be the forge that heated it.
Worse than the bite of a mad dog
is the sting of its poisoned iron.’
Next day they came to the court.
‘Don’t attack us anymore.
You’ll bring hurt and harm
and martyrdom to yourself.
Give us your daughter.’
‘Which one of you was told to seek her?’
‘Me, Culhwch, son of Kilyd.’
‘Come here so I can see you.’
A chair was placed under him,
so they could be face to face.
‘Is it you who seeks my daughter?’
‘I do.’ ‘Give me your word
that you’ll be just?’ ‘I give it.’
‘When you give me what I name,
then you will have my daughter.’
‘Name what you want.’
--------------
(Ysbaddaden gives Culhwch forty impossible tasks. This next poem tells how one of them is achieved. Gwythyr is one of Culhwch’s companions.)
The Lame Ant
As Gwythyr mab Greidawl
was crossing a mountain,
he heard lamentations:
a most bitter wailing.
Dreadful this noise.
He rushed towards it
drawing his sword,
cutting the anthill
off at the ground
saving the ants from
the blistering flames.
‘God’s blessing and ours upon you,’
they said to him.
‘And that which no man can recover
we will recover for thee.’
These were the ants
who collected the flax,
all the nine hestors
Ysbaddaden demanded.
But one seed was missing.
Until just before sunset.
it was finally brought in
by the last, limping ant.
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