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Ness Owen lives on Ynys Môn off the North Wales coast. This is her first collection, and is partly bilingual. The poems journey widely from family and motherhood, to politics, place and belonging: an underlying connection to the earth of Ness' home, that feeds a longing/desire/determination to write in the Mamiaith (Mothertongue) that she speaks, but did not learn to write fluently. The interplay of languages and the shifts of meaning from one to the other feed the musicality of the poems. Most of the poems were written in English, five have been additionally translated into Welsh (with help from Sian Northey) one was written in Welsh and translated into English by Ness.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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Willows
Mowing
March
Traed ’Berffro
Zero
The Meeting
Stand Your Ground
Laboon
Mamiaith
Hogan Lan Môr
Un Enw
One Name – Cymru
Yr Apêl oddi wrth Ferched Cymru (1923-24)
The Appeal From the Women of Wales (1923-24)
Ei Chân (Yr Aderyn Du)
Female Blackbird Sings
Lobsgows
Watching Her Leave
Counting
Ta’im o dan draed neb
Shut Up
Mr Naoto Kan Vists
RE: Mud
#10 Ways to Say No (to radioactive mud) Without Using the Word ‘No’
Wild Geese
Digging
Pebble Collector
Disgwylfa Chapel
Kiss
Buzzard
Dwynwen
Blodeuedd
Boys of Summer
No-one is Watching
How to Begin
He planted one for each
of us and one for her we
lost whose name we only
whispered to the sea-wind
determined for life they
grew each season, roots
entangled branches spread
spindling away from each
other until I forgot which
one was me but she was
immortal in the garden where
we played in upturned-wardrobes
and buried broken promises
through the window I blew her
goodnight kisses as November
winds tore leaves from her branches
and I watched her wave goodbye
knowing spring would bring her back.
I try to follow my
father’s straight lines
like he taught me
but he moves in spirals
Sometimes a job just
needs to be finished
doesn’t matter how.
We take it in turns
it’s easier to follow
his tracks though
I do cut corners
and change direction
just to prove I can.
Turning in spirals
makes me dizzy and
it hurts to cut
daisies, dandelions
plantain, buttercups.
He knows I’d love
to keep them but
if we don’t keep on
top of this, we know
it’ll outgrow us.
21/1/17
They wanted us broken
stranded away from our-
selves and each other rifts
deepening between us
drip-fed fear, anger, hate
it’s always someone else’s fault
they wanted silence no-one
to question why difference is
a problem, a worry, a threat
silence won’t shape our future
end hate-driven discontent
watch us gathering, hear
the tread of our feet like
others before us marching
for what we know is right
our voices not alone but
amplified louder than
the ballot-box, join us
march where you’re standing
they can’t ignore us all.
Not as bad as Auntie Annie’s feet
