About

Born in London to Welsh speaking parents, he has published four collections of poetry and a novel; he won the crown at the National Eisteddfod in 1999 and 2013.

From 2008 until 2009, he was Bardd Plant Cymru (the Welsh-language children’s laureate) and is a founder member of the award-winning television company Cwmni Da, working as a director, producer and presenter.

He has performed his work in North America and Europe and is keen to expand the audience for Welsh language poetry with the aid of music and visuals - as well as good old fashioned sheets of translations!

Watch Ifor ap Glyn in the playlist below, featuring:

Ifor reading 'Noswylio' ('Settling for the Night') at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2013
'Protest' from the crown-winning collection Terfysg (2013)
Ifor interviewed at the LLangollen Fringe Festival 2016, about his role as the new national poet for Wales, and the current position of Welsh writing
'Fydd y chwyldro ddim ar y teledu, gyfaill' ('The revolution will not be televised, my friend') - Ifor ap Glyn with Llwybr Llaethog,1992

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Bibliography

Poetry

Waliau’n Canu, 2011, Gwasg Carreg Gwalch

Cerddi Map yr Underground, 2001, Carreg Gwalch

Golchi Llestri mewn Bar Mitzvah, 1998, Carreg Gwalch

Holl Garthion Pen Cymro Ynghyd, 1991, Y Lolfa

Novel

Tra Bo Dau, 2016, Carreg Gwalch

History

‘Censorship and the Welsh Language in the First World War’ in Languages and the First World War: Communicating in a Transnational War (Eds. Julian Walker and Christophe Declercq), 2016, Palgrave Macmillan

Lleisiau’r Rhyfel Mawr, 2008, Carreg Gwalch

Extract: 'Hen Gapel'

‘Cysgant mewn Hedd’ meddai cofeb y colledigion,
ond ar y jiwcbocs heno, nid oes emynau,
ddim hyd yn oed Rhys
nac Ebenezer,
wnaeth gathreinio’r milwyr o’r ffos...

Codaf beint wrth y bar lle ces i medyddio.
Mae’n amser cwrdd;
mae merch yn hel gwydrau cymun y p’nawn;
mae’n rhoi gwên yn adnod i’r barman.

Cyfodaf fy llygaid tua’r oriel chwil
lle bu nhad yn hel casgliad,
lle cyfarfu gyntaf â llygaid fy mam
a hithau’n rhoi einioes gyda’r swllt yn ei blât.

‘O ba le y daw fy nghymorth?’
Plethaf ddwylo am fy nghwrw.
Cau llygaid. Plygu pen.
Cyfri bendithion....
ond methu â mwynhau
fy mheint cableddus.

Extract: 'An Old Chapel'

‘They Rest in Peace’, says the plaque
to the fallen,
but on the jukebox tonight, there are no hymns,
not even Rhys
or Ebenezer,
which exhorted the troops from the trench ...

I lift a pint at the bar where I was baptized.
It’s time for the service;
a girl collects the communion glasses;
she gives the barman a sermon smile.

I will lift up mine eyes to the vertiginous gallery
where my father took the collection,
where he first met my mother’s glance,
her lifelong committment
with the shilling in his plate.

‘From whence cometh my help?’
I fold my hands around my beer.
Close my eyes. Bow my head.
Count my blessings ...
but cannot enjoy
my blasphemous pint.

Extract: 'Igrexa antiga'

‘Descansen en paz’, di a lápida aos caídos,
Mais esta noite non hai himnos
na máquina de discos,
nin sequera Rhys
ou Ebenezer,
que incitaban aos soldados a sáir das trincheiras...

Alzo unha pinta na barra onde fun bautizado.
É hora de se reunir para a pregaria;
unha rapaza recolle os vasos da comuñón da tarde;
lánzalle un sorriso ao camareiro
que é coma un versículo.

Alzo os meus ollos cara á tribuna mareada
onde meu pai recollía a ofrenda,
onde atopou os ollos da miña nai
por primeira vez
e ela puxo unha vida xunto co xilin no seu prato.

‘De onde virá o meu socorro?’
Trenzo os dedos ao redor da miña cervexa.
Pecho os ollos. Inclino a cabeza.
Dou grazas a Deus...
Mais non podo desfrutar
da miña pinta impía.

Extract: 'ceiliog mwyalchen'

Yng nghefn y tŷ, wrth bwyso ar fy rhaw,
mae deryn du yn addo paradwys,
yn garglo heulwen yr hwyr yn ei wddf;

mi ganith, am fod rhaid iddo;
byrlymu’r nodau croyw...

Ei delori sy’n fy ngalw at fy ngwaith,
i greu chwyldro gyda gwên;

am fod y byd yn gân i gyd,
a bwlch enbyd yn ei harmoni
heb nodau ein halaw ninnau.

Extract: 'blackbird'

In the back yard, leaning on my spade,
a blackbird gives a promise of paradise,
gargling the evening sunshine in his throat;

he’ll sing, because he has to;
bubbling those eloquent notes ...

His warbling calls me to my work,
to spark revolution with a smile;

because our world is one of song,
with a huge gap in its harmony
without the line of our own melody.

Extract: 'o merlo'

Na horta da casa, mentres me apoio nunha pa,
promete o merlo un paraíso,
gargarexando o sol crepuscular na súa gorxa;

canta porque ten que cantar;
facendo burbullas coas notes doces...

É o seu trilo o que me chama ao meu traballo
De comezar unha revolución de sorrisos;

porque o mundo enteiro é unha canción,
e habería un oco desperando na súa música
se faltasen as notas de nosa melodía.

Commissions & Articles

Mwyara / Blackberrying

This poem is part of the ILS' 'Crossing Borders' series. It is written in both Welsh and English.

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Ifor ap Glyn

About

Bibliography

Poetry

Novel

History

Extract: 'Hen Gapel'

Extract: 'An Old Chapel'

Extract: 'Igrexa antiga'

Extract: 'ceiliog mwyalchen'

Extract: 'blackbird'

Extract: 'o merlo'

Commissions & Articles

Mwyara / Blackberrying

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Literature organisations

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Connections

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