'Layamon's Last Interview': Publication in Long Poem magazine

 

'Laȝamon's last interview', published in issue Twenty Nine of Long Poem Magazine, will be the final chapter of the last book in the series that runs from A Presentment of Englishry, to A Man of Heart. (Both published by Shearsman in the UK). 

After he finished his book, what did he do next? There's no evidence he wrote another line. Was he proud of his work? Was he disappointed by its limited reception?  Was he bitter?  To contrast two very different story telling traditions,  Gwydion son of Don meets the old man who wrote the Brut, and 'interviews' him. 

Long Poem Magazine, published in the Uk, is one of the few print outlets for someone like myself who writes very long narrative poems.  So i am delighted to have work published in this edition. This is the third time this has happened, and if I ever finish this project I will owe the editors 'a debt of gratitude'. 

A short extract.....

Gwydion, stooping to enter, 

‘You’re a hard man to find.’

 

‘I didn’t know anyone was looking.’

 

The woman blocks the doorway;

her shadow and the priest, 

two darker stains on the rough wall.

 

One stool, one bed, two bowls,

two wooden spoons.

No books. No writing materials.

He can taste the damp.

 

‘She looks after me. I don’t know why.’

 

‘Because you need looking after.

Don’t wind him up, sir, please.

He’s a bugger to settle.’

 

‘The Lateran council forbade the priest his wife or concubine.

Gerald made the usual Latin puns so few could understand.

But why shouldn’t a man hold someone in the dark?

And how could I survive without her patient charity?’

 

‘They called you latimer, not priest.’

 

‘I translate at those sad times 

m’lord shouts at his tenants

and they need to understand

or when he’s feeling threatened 

by the written word. 

 

You’re Welsh? Kyuarwydd? 
A professional storyteller.

Trained in the tradition. 

Valued. Honoured.

How very easy for you. 

How very lucrative.’

 

‘You know as well as I,

no one stands on the summit

who hasn’t sweated the slopes. 

I read your history. 

I liked it very much.’

 

‘You must be the only man who has.’

 

‘You wrote in English. 

Did you expect an audience to rival Monmouth’s?’

 

The woman interrupts.

‘They feed us; bread, cheese, honey. 

Sometimes meat and wine if he’s been useful.

I’d offer you some but there’s nothing in the pot.’