Y cynta’ I weld y môr (Seeing the Sea)

Y cynta’ I weld y môr (Seeing the Sea)

Y cynta’ I weld y môr (Seeing the Sea)

Bod y cynta’ i weld y môr
yna’r agosa down
at ddarganfod yn llygad agored

yr arlais cyn inni ddidol
yr aeliau sydd rhwng nef a daear,
gwagle a gweilgi.

Awn yn llawen tua’i chwerthin:
cyrraedd at ymyl fflowns ei chwedlau,
tafodau glas yn traethu gwirebau.

Am ennyd syllwn heb allu deall
ble mae’r dyfnder, y dwyfol nad yw’n datgan
ei hun wrth swatio’n y dirgel.

A gweld o’r newydd, nad yw’r moroedd
yn llai mirain, er i longau ddryllio
ar greigiau, cans yno bydd y cyffro

sy’n iasu yn ein geni’n frau o’r newydd.
Gweld y môr gynta’ yw’r cynta’
y down at ddarganfod gwir ryfeddod.



Seeing the Sea

To be first to see the sea
Is the closest we may ever come
To open-eyed discovery.

There she lies, a temple
helping us draw the line
between heaven and earth,
nothing and oceans.

We travel gladly towards her laughter
reaching the skirt-hem of her stories,
where her tongues tell truths.

For a time, we stare, not understanding
her depths, this divinity who will
not reveal herself, hugging her secret

and see, anew, that a sea
is no less beautiful because ships
founder on rocks, because, look,
in her split-second waves

we grow younger with each frisson;
seeing the sea
for the first time
is the closest we may come
to the wonder of eyes opened.