Gwilym Bowen Rhys – “Ceinion Conwy” (Conwy’s Beautiful Banks).

Hey people! 🙂 

 

Today I’d really like to share with you this beautiful song from the latest album by Gwilym Bowen Rhys, the second album in his Detholiad o Hen Faledi (Selection of Old Ballads), series. While I wrote on here before that my favourite song from this particular album is unquestionably Deio Bach, I love this one very much as well. One reason for that is because it is set to quite a haunting traditional melody. Besides, it is one of the songs on this album that Gwilym sings a capella. I’m absolutely in awe of his versatility as an instrumentalist, but it’s also always a treat to hear his voice unaccompanied. But the most important reason is that it is one of SO many Welsh cultural works that deals with the topic of hiraeth – that Welsh word which is untranslatable to English and about which I’ve written like a dozen times on here before. – It describes a kind of longing, and if I understand it correctly, it can come in different shades and flavours and can be used quite broadly, But most often, “hiraeth” is simply defined as a very deep longing for your homeland, specifically Wales since it’s a Welsh word. And that’s the sort of hiraeth we’re talking about here as well. While I am not Welsh and have no familial connection to Wales, and have never been out of my home country for longer than a week, I have had ample experience with various other flavours of hiraeth, including, as you might be aware, a chronic hiraeth for home, in the more literal sense of the word, so this topic always resonates with me deeply and I love “hiraeth-ful” songs. It is from the perspective of a Welshman who lives in England, and is as much a song of hiraeth for Wales in general, as it is for Conwy – which is a region in the north of the country. – 

 

This song was written by a man called John Jones who was originally from a village called Glan Conwy in Conwy county, and lived in the 19th century. 

 

The translation below comes from Gwilym’s website where you can also find the original Welsh words. 

 

Despite having had pleasures in the Englishman’s country
and having seen his bright inventions,
the land of the stunning muse
is twice as good.
Her healthy breeze and sweet waters,
and the temperament of her people.
when I recall her bards, a longing
seeps through the nooks and crannies of my weak heart.


I can almost say with certainty
that Wales is a heavenly land,
Oh, were not my feet treading her now -
on the beautiful banks of Conwy

The Englishman shows me every day
his honesty and courtesy,
and by night I receive from him a bed
and more than enough good treatment,
but when my body rests peacefully
on a comfy feather bed,
my spirit ascends and flies away
to visit the land of Wales

And after raising with the day
my heart is so sad,
My place will not be the soil of Wales,
but the centre of Manchester town.
before the sun rises over in the East,
the spirit returns to its lodgings  
to sadly reminisce how things were
amongst Wales’ family

My father is in the Conwy valley
amongst my good friends,
and there he will be until God calls
upon the gentle dead.
To borrow a grave on those banks
is what I truly wish,
to rest until the dead return
from the woeful prison of death.