Iwan Llwyd won the National Eisteddfod Crown in 1990. A new collection of 50 poems in Welsh will appear in November to mark his 50th birthday. He is a memorable poetry performer, working with musicians and influenced by blues and jazz. Far Rockaway is published in The Adulterer's Tongue, a parallel-text anthology of work by six Welsh poets (translated and edited by Robert Minhinnick, Carcanet Press, 2003).
Far Rockaway
Dwi am fynd a thi i Far Rockaway
Far Rockaway, mae enw'r lle
yn gitar yn fy mhen, yn gor
o rythmau haf a llanw'r mor:
yn sgwrs cariadon dros goffi cry
ar ol taith drwy'r nos mewn pick-up du,
yn oglau petrol ar ol glaw,
yn chwilio'r lleuad yn llaw,
yn hela brogaod ar gefnffordd wleb,
yn wefr o fod yn nabod neb:
dwi am fynd a thi i Far Rockaway,
Far Rockaway
lle mae cwr y ne
yn golchi'i thraed ym mudreddi'r traeth,
ac yn ffeirio hwiangerddi ffraeth,
lle mae enfys y graffiti'n ffin
rhwng y waiiau noeth a'r haul mawr blin,
lle mae'r trac yn teithi'r llwybr cul
rhwng gwen nos Sadwrn a gwg y Sul,
a ninnau'n dau yn rhannu baich
ein cyfrinachau fraich ym mraich:
dwi fynd a thi i Far Rockaway,
Far Rockaway,
lle mae heddlu'r dre
yn sgwennu cerddi wrth ddisgwyl tren
ac yn sgwrsio efo'u gynnau'n glen,
lle mae'r beirdd ar eu hystolion tal
yn cynganneddu ar bedair wal,
yn yfed wisgi efo'r gwlith,
yn chwarae gwyddbwyll a'u llaw chwith,
mae cusan hir yn enw'r lle-
Far Rockaway, Far Rockaway.
IWAN LLWYD
Far Rockaway Translated from the Welsh by Iwan Llwyd
I will take you to Far Rockaway,
Far Rockaway,
the name strums
a guitar in my head, sings a choir
of summer and sea-tide rhythms:
talks of lovers over black coffee
on a night-ride in a pick up truck,
smells of gasoline after rain,
hand in hand on the trial of the moon,
hunting bullfrogs on a wet lane,
the thrill of that half -remembered tune:
I will take you to Far Rockaway,
Far Rockaway,
where the heavens' hem
trails in the muddied seashore
and trades witty lullabies,
where the graffiti rainbow is a frontier
between the naked walls and the simmering sun,
where the track follows the narrow path
between Saturday's smiles and Sunday's scowl,
as we both share our secret burdens
arm in arm:
I will take you to Far Rockaway,
Far Rockaway,
where the city police
are sketching poems as they await the train,
and the poets on their high-rise ladders
are daubing cynghanned on four walls
drinking whiskey and dew,
playing left-handed chess;
the name is one long drawn out kiss--
Far Rockaway, Far Rockaway.
IWAN LLWYD
****
"It was 1994 and my first ever visit to the US of A. As the plane crossed the Atlantic coast the pilot announced that we were entering the US so many thousand feet 'above Bangor, Maine.' I had started my journey in Bangor, North Wales, and there was some kind of strange synchronicity in his announcement.
I was in the US to film a series of poetry based programmes giving my first impressions of the States for the Welsh language TV channel, S4C, and was meeting the camera crew at JFK airport. From there we had planned to take a train to Manhattan. Due to some confusion however, we caught the 'A' train and found ourselves in a place called Far Rockaway in Queens. Despite being by the sea, Far Rockaway had obviously seen better days. From its heyday before World War II, air-conditioning and air travel led to a rapid decline, and half a century later it hit rock bottom, with high crime, crazy urban renewal schemes and the shutdown of a Long Island Rail Road train stop.
The beach was littered with debris and pollution, graffiti coloured the main street buildings and the cops paraded not in pairs but in posses, and we caught the first train out of Far Rockaway back to the relative safety of Manhattan. However, I couldn't escape from that haunting name -- Far Rockaway. An earlier Welsh poet, T H Parry-Williams, sang of the magic in the name Santa Fe, and the name Far Rockaway gave me a similar frisson. The poem recalls many aspects of my time in the US, but also goes into the realm of lullabies and romance, all inspired by the singalong sound of the name, Far Rockaway.
Since my brief time in Far Rockaway, I have been made aware that many other poets have been inspired by the name -- as diverse as Miroslav Holub, Delmore Schwartz and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who echoes my misdirected train ride to Far Rockaway:
'I still would love to find again
that lost locality
Where I might catch once more
a Sunday subway for
some Far Rockaway of the heart'."
-Iwan Llwyd, October 2008