A Year of Late Cornish Day 263

Dew Cansves Dedh Trei Ügens ha Trei

De Gwener, kensa warn ügens mis Gwedngala.

Friday, 21^st September.

Ew hebma an diwettha loor leun a hav? Nag ew, drefen nag ew hei leun en tien. Na vedh loor leun terebo an pajwora warn ügens  mis Gwedngala – ha nena na vedh hav na fella. Hedna a vedh an kensa loor leun en kidnyadh. Praga? Pana termyn üjy kidnyadh o talla? Kidnyadh keweroniethel a dhallathas an kensa dedh a vis Gwedngala. An trei mis kidnyadh ew mis Gwedngala, mis Hedra ha mis Dû. Ma kidnyadh steroniethel o talla avorow, dhort an keheja dedh ha nos. (Ma’n howl a-ûgh keheja an bes.) Ma va o türya bys e’n mantol gwav. Òja avorow an dedhyow a vedh cotta vel an nosow. Ma gwav o toas! Mars ew avorow an kensa dedh a gidnyadh – ev a vedh an diwettha dedh an Werhes magata.

Is this the last full moon of summer? No, because it’s not completely full. There won’t be a full moon until 24^th September – and then it will no longer be summer. That will be the first full moon in autumn. Why? When does autumn start? Meteorological autumn started on the first day of September. The three autumn months are September, October and November. Astrological autumn starts tomorrow, from the equinox. (The sun is above the Equator.) It lasts till the winter solstice. After tomorrow the days will be shorter than the nights. Winter is coming! If tomorrow is the first day of autumn – it is the last day of Virgo as well.   

A Year of Late Cornish Day 262

Dew Cansves Dedh Trei Ügens ha Dew

De Yow ew, an ügensves dedh a vis Gwedngala.

It’s Thursday, the 20^th day of September.

Da ew genam oll an liwyow kidnyadh. Ma prisken genam gen flourys glas en hav. Otta hei - pur vlou ew. Hedna a veu en mis Gorefan. Me a’n gonethas dhort radn bian trehys mes a bagas broas nanj ew nebes bledhednyow. Lebmyn ma’n flourys o treylya purpur en kidnyadh. Gwell ew genam an purpur, ogasty. Me a vedn trehy nebes flourys scon ha seha anjei rag Nadelik. Thera vy o longya dh’aga fayntya arhans rag tekheanjow. Ottobma an flourys hedhyw.

I like all the autumn colours. I have a shrub with blue flowers in summer. There it is - it's very blue. That was in July. I propagated it from a small part pruned out of a big bush several years ago. Now the flowers are turning purple in autumn. I prefer the purple, almost. I shall cut some flowers soon and dry them for Christmas. I usually paint them silver for decorations. Here are the flowers today.

Ma gwedhen vian reb an vownder. Nag ew hei teg en hav, bes lebmyn hei a dhallathas dhe dreylya. En hav hei a veu blewek, bes lebmyn thew an del teg - brith purpur-dû, rüdh, owriek, melen ha dehen. Mons o codha dhe'n dor.

There is a small tree by the lane. It is not pretty in summer, but now it has started to turn. In summer it was boring, but now the leaves are lovely - patterned purple-black, red, golden, yellow and cream. They are falling down.

A Year of Late Cornish Day 261

Dew Cansves Dedh Trei Ügens hag Onan

De Merher ew, an nownjegves dedh a vis Gwedngala.

It’s Wednesday, the 19^th day of September.

Thew brially bleujyow gwenton, thera vy crejy, ha nag üjy mis Gwedngala en gwenton. Rag hedna, thew an flour-ma myskemerys. Thew ev nebes misyow re avar. Tevys ew dhort hasen. En gwenton ma pub pres lies briallen et o lowarth, o cül has lowr.

Primroses are spring flowers, I believe, and September is not in spring. Therefore, this flower is mistaken. It’s several months too early. It has grown from a seed. In spring there are always lots of primroses in my garden, making plenty of seeds.

A Year of Late Cornish Day 243

Dew Cansves Dedh Dew Ügens ha Trei

De Sadorn ew, an kensa dedh a vis Gwedngala.

It’s Saturday, the 1^st day of September.

En Sowsnek thew an mis-ma gelwys warlergh an seythves mis an calander Roman coth. Saw mis Gwedngala “September” ew an nawhes mis agan calander, nag ew an seythves mis. Rag fra? Calander soudoryon Roman a dhiwedhes gen mis Meurth – na wrüg soudoryon Roman ombla en gwav! En pecar maner nessa mis a vedh an ethves mis “October”, ha òja hedna e vedh an nawhes mis “November” ha’n degves mis “December”. Ha rag fra “Gwedngala” en Kernôwek? Òja an drevas thew an prasow leun a gala. Nag ew gwydn poran bes disliw ew en tevry.

In English this month is named after the seventh month of the old Roman calendar. But September is the ninth month of our calendar; it’s not the seventh month. Why? The Roman soldiers’ calendar began with March – Roman soldiers didn’t fight in winter! Similarly next month will be the eighth month “October” and after that there will be the ninth month “November” and the tenth month “December”. And why “white/fair straw” in Cornish? After the harvest the fields are full of straw. It is not exactly white but it is certainly faded.

Tabm a Gernow 111 (Liwyow an Mor)

I am obsessed with the colour of the sea, so I thought I'd write a poem about it. Not so much Cornish this time, though.

Colours of the Sea

   When you stand right on the coast you get wrap-around vistas of the sea. If you live a mile inland, as I do, you must be content with glimpses of the sea between the hills. Every day I walk my dog on the hills over-looking the sea in Perran Bay. I can see an inverted triangle of water, framed between the sky above, the slopes of Bolingey on the left and the Perranporth sand dunes on the right; a few miles of horizon and just a yard or two of beach. Within its frame, every day the sea looks a different colour.

   The Cornish language has a word “GLAS” that covers almost all eventualities. So, whether the sea is blue, grey or green I can say, “Glas ew an mor”.

Glas ew an mor hedhyw.

That means “Today the sea is blue”.

Not the bright acrylic blues

Some postcard-buyers and painters choose,

But inky blue, Quinky blue.

Dip-your-pen-in writers’ blue.

Glas ew an mor hedhyw.

Again, “Today the sea is blue.”

Not aquamarine or turquoise blue,

Or David Hockney swimming pool blue,

But something more of a subtle hue.

Blue and grey and greeny, too.

Ma cabmdhavas reb an mor.

A shattered rainbow is on the shore.

The wind is whisking a mist of spray,

Catching the late sun’s slanting ray,

And the sea behind is dark as night,

Enhancing the spectrum of scattered light.

 Tho an mor glas de.

Yesterday the sea was grey.

Not wishy washy ashy grey,

But Little Grey Rabbit furry grey,

With a white under-belly hiding away

On the edge of the sand in Perran Bay.

Hedhyw o an mor brithys gen glas.

Today the sea was striped with greys.

Like a faded badger, not quite black and white,

With its head and tail hidden from sight,

Light by the sky and darker near me.

I was waiting for “brogh” to rise from the sea.

Na ellama gwelas an mor hedhyw.

I can’t see the sea, hidden from view,

By low clouds dropping a veil of hail,

Obscuring horizon and shore-line as well.

And the tide is in, so I cannot see

Where the edge of the sea should be.

Leun a liw o an mor hedhyw.

The rain had rinsed the sky right through

And all the colour had washed into the sea.

White above and black beneath

With streaks of purple and brown, to show

Where the sandbanks were down below.

Tho glas an vorr a moas dhe’n mor.

The road was wet from the night before

Reflecting blue sky in patches of rain.

I must go down to the sea again.

The sea was grey and the road was too,

But at least the road had patches of blue

En mettin ma me eth dhe’n treath.

I went to the beach, and caught my breath,

For the sea’d been rough at the last high tide

And the pools in the sand spread far and wide,

Reflecting the sky and clouds above –

Halcyon blue and grey of dove.

Melin ha glas ew an mor hedhyw.

Under the sea it’s no longer blue.

Under the sea it’s a different scene,

No longer blue, just yellowy-green.

Sand and alga and filtered out red,

It’s a world of green down by the sea bed.

Glas o an mor hedhyw.

I took my paints but couldn’t choose

The perfect shade from all my range.

Each time I looked there was a change.

Blue-grey-green, depends on whether

I’m out in dull or sunny weather.

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A Year of Late Cornish Day 241

Dew Cansves Dedh Dogans (Dew Ügens) hag Onan

De Yow, degves warn ügens mis Est.

Thursday, 30^th August.

 Nag ew an powdir teller dison. Hedhyw me alja clowes kerry havyjy war an vorr(vor’) veur, an jynn mejy tiek en ogas, ha myjer glesin o gour. An son a jynnweythow. Adhves lowr dhe voas trehys ew an ys e'n prasow, keth ew behatna  an trevajow e’n vledhen-ma ha berr ew an cala. Nag ew an gwels et agan lowarth hir saw an whenn ew pur hir solabres. Ma pedry pronter, dans lew, pawbran ha “brath hok” (my translation).

The countryside is not a quiet place. Today I could hear cars of summer visitors on the highway, the harvester of a nearby farmer, and my husband’s lawn mower. The sound of machinery. The corn in the fields is mature enough to be cut, though the yields this year are smaller and the straw is short. The grass in our garden is not long but the weeds are already very tall. There is knapweed, dandelion, buttercup and hawkbit.