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Artists
Nia Morais is a Welsh-Cape Verdean writer from Cardiff who writes poetry, drama, and short fiction. Her debut audio play “Crafangau” was released by the Sherman Theatre in 2020. Nia is a writer for the 2020-21 Frân Wen New Writing programme in collaboration with Eisteddfod Genedlaethol Cymru and Literature Wales. Her passion lies in developing work that reflects the richness of a diverse contemporary Wales.
Angharad Harrop is an independent dance artist based in North Wales and enjoys performing, teaching and choreographing for both stage and location. She is co-director of international performance company Cymru: Brasil, who create works drawing from the folk cultures of both Wales and Brazil. Angharad has worked alongside artists such as Julie Nioche, Marc Rees and Filipa Francisco, as a dancer and choreographer, through opportunities with National Theatre Wales and Migrations. She is a Lecturer in Dance at the University of Chester, Dance Buddy at Pontio, Bangor and working towards her PhD in Embodiment and Performance at De Montfort University, Leicester.
Poem
Gweddi am Frws Gwallt
Mae’r byd yn glais, forwr bach.
Mae’r glaw yn treiddio, yn clymu, yn atal,
yn llenwi ein diwrnodau, yn cuddio’r corynnod dan frigau noeth.
Pob bore, dy lygaid yn ludiog gyda swyn dy gwsg,
dwi’n casglu dy wallt sidan yn fy llaw,
ac yn cydio, yn ffurfio
breichled aur o hud a lledrith.
Dwi’n brwsio, yn anadlu, yn gwylio
petalau cochion ac emralltau sgleiniog
yn cwympo o dy glustiau,
A thithe dal yn glai meddal, yn amharod i’r byd.
Faint wyt ti’n wybod am boen?
Ei dafod amharchus yn trio am ddant i siglo?
Cofia’r nerth yn dy draed, lwynog chwim;
Cofia air dy fam yn wynt ar dy ol.
Gyd sy gen i yw fy nghariad.
Gweddiaf gyda phob pwyth, yn gwehyddu
dy fywyd i f’un i.
Mae’r brws yn plethu, yn plygu, yn troelli
fel corwynt lawr y blynyddoedd.
I ti, y môr lle mae fy afonydd yn gorffen.
Ym mhob llif o dy wallt sidan, dwi’n plethu
mymryn o fy nerth, hanner-eiliad o fy nghariad
yn gobeithio swyno’r glaw i ffwrdd.
Gad i fy mrws droi yn gwch,
yn dy lywio di drwy’r diwrnod ysgol
ac yn ôl i fy mreichiau.
Gweddiaf fod y byd ddim yn ormod heddiw.
Gweddiaf am wynt teg a thonnau distaw.
Ac am dy wên, dy ddwylo, dy wallt anniben.
//
Prayer for a Hairbrush
The world is a bruise, little sailor.
The rain invades, knots, stops,
bloating our days, hiding spiders under naked branches.
Every morning, your eyes glued by sleep’s charm,
I collect your silk-hair in my hand,
and hold, and form
a golden bracelet of magic and sorcery.
I brush, and breathe, and watch
as red petals and shining emeralds
fall from your ears,
and you, still soft clay, are unready for the world.
What do you know of pain?
Its careless tongue searching for teeth to worry?
Remember the strength in your feet, quick fox;
Remember your mother’s word as wind at your back.
All I have is my love.
I pray with every stitch, weaving
your life to mine.
The brush braids, bends, turns
Like a tornado down the years.
To you, the ocean where my rivers end.
In every current of your silk-hair, I plait
A sliver of my strength, a half-second of my love,
Hoping to witch the rain away.
Let my brush become a ship,
guiding you through your school day
and home to my arms.
I pray that the world isn’t too much today.
I pray for fair winds and calm waves.
And for your smile, your hands, your untidy hair.