Tempus Fugit (English / Welsh / French / Latin)

Wow, tempus fugit...

St. David's Day has come and gone, but I did celebrate it commiting a Welsh act: Menna Elfyn read from her poetry at Union College on Wednesday. I got someone to cover my Wednesday night class, and off I went to sit with about 15 other people and listen to her cerddi. Her work really is quite lovely. I only wish she were more vivacious in her readings. She was nothing in person as I imagined her to be. I had conjured in my head an image of Marianne Faithfulesque femme d'un certain âge, but instead found myself confronted with a whisp of a late middle-aged woman from Llandysul, who despite her small size and quiet voice, was one of the main agitators for Cymdeithas yr Iaith back in the 60's. I'm sure she has more stories to tell, and woe to me that I did not suggest that she bring her coat and brolly to Pinhead Susan's for an unspecified number of vodka orange juices so she could tell me all about it. Sadly, Thursday was a school day, and I was to leave for Buffalo with colleagues on a SUNY conference.

Incidentally, the St. David's Society will be having our dinner on March 19th, and I will be the guest lecturer... no rest for wicked, nor even for me.

The conference went well, for SUNY conferences, interesting points, most of which I agree with, aside from the over indulgence in enabling touchy-feely clap-trap. Luckily I don't seem to lose my students due to my insensitivity, however. To the contrary, they seem to enjoy my back country coarseness which sleeps in the most untoward way with my bourgeois Euro-influenced mores. I mean for fuck's sake, I call a goddamn sonofabitch a goddamn sonofabitch, but I do it with a glass of 18 year old Islay single malt in one hand, a sweet stoagie in the other and plate of stilton drenched beef in front of me. If they're not really sure what to think of me, I've done my job. I mean, it's one thing to be predictible, it's another to be boring!

I can't really complain about anything these days, except the usual, does dim blydi gariad ffyddlon yn fy myd, o hyd! Mae blydi Nick 'di rhoi sylw'n hwyrach, yn gofyn a dipyn bach, ond chafodd o ddim byd, y ffycar - o wel, ddylwn i ddim fod yn rhy galed arno fo, 'mond pishyn ifanc yn chwilio'i ffordd yn y bydy mae o. Ond petaswn i'n grefach, sai ei swyn o ddim yn fy hudo fi o hyd. Fy mai i ydy hwnnw, a dim yn hollol ei fai o.... Mae chemeg yn felltith. O ia, chafodd o ddim byd oherwydd doedd o ddim yn ddigon cyflym. Mae rhwyun arall 'di cyrraedd y post cyn iddo fo.

Ond mae'r dyddiau'n mynd yn hirach o'r diwedd hir. Mae'r gaeaef 'di bod yn ddigon hir ac yn ddigon du yn barod, rwyf yn barod i'r dyddiau poeth a chwyslyd gynhesu celloedd fy nghalon oer... a'r haf hwn, ddaw cariad cywir?? Pwy a wyr? Rwyf yn ei hamhau. Rwyf wedi byw yn amser rhy hir rŵan rwyf yn ei gredu, i ganfod hwn. Rwyf yn ceisio o hyd ta waith. Pam lai? Rwyf wedi cael bywyd da erbyn hyn, rwyf wedi 'neud fy ffordd fel roeddwn i eisiau, does dim rheswm i beidio ceisio, ac os ffaelaf i? Wel, sdim ots, mae'r gwanwyn yn cyrraedd yn fuan, a bydd yr hogia yn ymnoethi a bydd golwg hardd i'm llygaid ac antur gwych i'm cala... addawiad yr haf, gobaith am gariad cywir, ac os na ddaw, hwyl hyd ffordd i'r bedd!

Byddaf yn fuan yn Orlians Newydd hefyd - rwyf yn edrych ymlaen at hynny. Rwyf am weld y llefydd câr a theimlo curiad y ddinas honno eto. Rwyf yn siŵr y bydd yn wanach, ond ta waith mae'n curo o hyd. Byddaf yno yn ystod diwedd mis Mai, yn ystod tywydd poeth, ond bydd yn wych i deimlo'r wlypter ddofn boeth cyn imi fynd ar draws y môr i Gymru ac i'r Almaen oeraidd...