Tabm a Gernow 104 (St Nectan's Well)

An Dowr Trevillet

The River Trevillet

at St Nectan’s Well

This poem by Dorothy Coventon, who lives near Looe, was awarded 2^nd prize in the 2013 Charles Causley poetry competition. Translation into Late Cornish by Janice Lobb.

Pecar del via ponya, hag adheracty hy honan, ma’n awon o trefya-scrija dres an lehen, garma liv e’n tunner killas dû, ha tredna dhe vason carrek üjy o scullya dowr tardha war altar an venten o whetha en còsel.	As if running, and before herself, the river spit-screams over the ledge, shouts a spate into the black slate funnel, and roars to a rock basin that pours breaking water onto the quietly breathing altar of the well.
Hebask ew hei lebmen ma hy fadellik golow-mirour o tastewidnya an bramol Downensek Diwedhes. Ma gwedh egina o qwreydha lebma an edhnow a’s droppyas, aga scorrow truedhek tollwiskys en snodow cabmdhavas whans-ha-galar gerys ena dhe gevarwodha pejadow hanajys.	She’s still now her light-mirror saucer reflects the Late Devonian dome. Sprouting trees root where the birds dropped them, their supplicant branches disguised in wish – and – grief – rainbow ribbons, left there to guide whispered prayers.
Ma gwris o conjorya war estyl slink. Ma pedry pronter amethyst o haylya Maria war delkyow sehys sycamor. Ma spiris glas o còrtos en mar lelder reb bottel bian heb ebil – wheg perfumys kens- gorherys gen kewny, o posa war dhelow, a vowes mar danow en fram stanch, ma war neb cor  o qwitha segh hy hov.	Crystals implore on slippery ledges. An amethyst rosary hails Mary on dried Sycamore leaves. A blue elf waits in such devotion by a small moss covered – once fragrant - unstopped bottle, that leans on an icon, of a girl so thin in a waterproof frame, that somehow keeps her memory dry.
Lent ew an poll dhe hepcor, ma’n gwedh, snodow, ha dorgel howlvrith o còrtos lel dh’y golow-mirour o terneyja war vily lebm ha bathow üvel, amovys gans an wurnel ha’n Sans heb pedn eus o kerdhes y dhowr dhe’n mor.	The pool is slow to let go, trees, ribbons, and sun-rayed dome stay devoted to its light – mirror levitating on keen pebbles and humble coins, agitated by the undertow and the headless Saint that walks its water to the sea