This was my last full day in The Big Easy, and as I had mentioned in an earlier post, dywedeais i gelwydd wrth Th. am ddod yma. Roeddwn yn wir yn edrych ymlaen at ddod yma o fy nghalon, mwy nag yn flaenorol. Am un peth, Barbara has made a full recovery, and when one has made the custom of doing something over a period of years, and one enjoys the ritual and the habit of doing it, one is loathe to let it go. I had little doubt that Barbara would recover her health, but I didn't know if she would have lost her verve, if the struggle with the cancer would have changed her personality. Fortunately, it did not, and for the time being, this part of my life is as it was. Still, I was anxious to find that Barbara was the same gwraig ddiddorol yr oedd hi gynt, efo'r un hen fodd i ymchwilio i ddadlau, yr un hen fodd i fyw.
Additionally, I was looking very much forward to the weather, the warmth, the high angle of the sun in the sky, the smell of the mighty Big Muddy's perpetual influence and threat on this fragile slip of land poised as it is between sundry possibilities of destruction. I had spent so much of the spring, summer and fall outside this year on the bike, walking or hiking, that I was unhappy at the thought of cocooning myself through the winter. So far, there hasn't been really enough snow to be out doing snowshoeing or cross country skiing, and since diwedd mis Hydref, dwi wedi bod tu mewn, yn y nyth.
Today the weather has been exquisite; it was warm enough today that during my perambulation of Audubon Park, I broke a little sweat, such a divine pleasure! The temperature had risen into the 70's, and the Earth was warm enough to exude that summery fragrance of slowly baking and decaying plant matter; during this week, even with the cooler temperatures, spring had begin to show up in New Orleans, and today several blossoms made their presence known. The park was full of people, and ducks and geese and egrets. Tomorrow this time, I will be back in Albany, the frigid air will surround me like it's Tuktoyaktuk and the snow will be falling. What a dreadful thought...
Luckily today was otherwise lovely, the warmth welcome, and tonight's main event was another delicious meal prepared by Sylvia, Alfred's (Barbara's brother) girlfriend, accompanies by good conversation and good Scotch. Besides Barbara, Alfred and myself, a friend of Sylvia's, also named Barbara was there, and added good whit and intrigue to the night's tales. For dessert we had a kingcake, and I was the one to get the baby, so if any of these folks find themselve on a snowy northern sojourn, the meal will be on me. I would be anyway, of course, since they have been so kind to me, but the tradition of the kingcake baby just reinforces the invitation.
Ond yn y parc, y bobl, yn arbennig y dynion, dyna achos arall y digalondeb sydd yn fy mod rwan, ohwerydd gweld dynion heini, ifanc, yn rhedeg yn hanner noeth, yn chwysu, roedd yn anodd i beidio â meddwl amdanon nhw, a pheidio â meddwl am yr unig golled sydd gennyf. Do, daeth yr hen freuddwyd yn ysglyfaethu'n ôl o'r sbwriel lle roedd o wedi bod yn gwersyllu ers meityn rwan. Y gwanwyn, the white weakness, the weak whiteness, that furtive feeling as life returns from cold places; those living in coldish climes cannot help but feel its pull and influence in ways those who come from hot places cannot appreciate. 'Tis better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all, so goes the time worn cliché, but for those of us in the North, where we are willing slaves to the changing cadence of the season, each year the embers die, and then return with the warm air, and our biologies are sensitive to it even now in a modern era of central heat and artificial light. Hiraeth, dyna beth sydd yn fy nghalon heno, hiraeth am Yntau, pwy bynnag y bo, os yw o'n bod o gwbl tu hwnt i'r breuddwyd cas... ond an gwir trist yu my a vyn den yowynk dhe gara, dhe gysi, den yowynk fel fi, yr un oed â fi neu tipyn bach moy yowynk py moy cos. An nos a dheu, my a vyn cara, pothder. Ydy, hiraeth, morrinha - estranha forma de vida...
Two songs then for tonight...
Hiraeth (tradd./trad.)
Dwedwch fawrion o wybodaeth
Dwedwch fawrion o wybodaeth
O ba beth y gwnaethpwyd hiraeth
A pha ddefnydd a roedd ynddo
Na ddarfyddo wrth ei wisgo
Derfydd aur a derfydd arian
Derfydd aur a derfydd arian
Derfydd melfed derfydd sidan
Derfydd pob dilledyn helaeth
Eto er hyn ni dderfydd hiraeth
Hiraeth mawr a hiraeth creulon
Hiraeth sydd yn torri 'nghalon
Pan fwy' dryma'r nos yn cysgu...
Fe ddaw hiraeth ac a'm deffry
Hiraeth hiraeth cilia cilia
Hiraeth hiraeth cilia cilia
Paid â phwyso mor drwm arna'
Nesa' tipyn at yr erchwyn
Gad i mi gael cysgu gronyn
Nem às paredes confesso (Amalia Rodrigues)
De quem eu gosto nem às paredes confesso
E nem aposto
Que não gosto de ninguém
Podes rogar
Podes chorar
Podes sorrir também
De quem eu gosto
Nem às paredes confesso.
Não queiras gostar de mim
Sem que eu te peça,
Nem me dês nada que ao fim
Eu não mereça
Vê se me deitas depois
Culpas no rosto
Eu sou sincera
Porque não quero
Dar te um desgosto
De quem eu gosto nem às paredes confesso
E nem aposto
Que não gosto de ninguém
Podes rogarPodes chorar
Podes sorrir também
De quem eu gosto
Nem às paredes confesso.
Quem sabe se te esqueci
Ou se te quero
Quem sabe até se é por tique eu tanto espero.
Se gosto ou não afinal
Isso é comigo,
Mesmo que penses
Que me convences
Nada te digo.
De quem eu gosto nem às paredes confesso
E nem aposto
Que não gosto de ninguém
Podes rogar
Podes chorar
Podes sorrir também
De quem eu gosto
Nem às paredes confesso.
Não queiras gostar de mim
Sem que eu te peça,
Nem me dês nada que ao fim
Eu não mereça
Vê se me deitas depois
Culpas no rosto
Eu sou sincera
Porque não quero
Dar te um desgosto
De quem eu gosto nem às paredes confesso
E nem aposto
Que não gosto de ninguém
Podes rogar
Podes chorar
Podes sorrir também
De quem eu gosto
Nem às paredes confesso.
De quem eu gosto nem às paredes confesso
E nem aposto
Que não gosto de ninguém
Podes rogar
Podes chorar
Podes sorrir também
De quem eu gostoNem às paredes confesso.
1 comentari:
I envy your reprieve from winter's hoary clutches. Today the temp reads 3 degrees with a wind chill of -11. And that's just here in PA. I suppose it'll be worse in Albany. I can't recall the smell of warm earth. So much for global warming. I hope you have a safe trip back to the Northeast and I look forward to enjoying the Tulip Festival with you in 3 months. Ciao!
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