World Premiere of “The Wind” with the Delaware County Symphony Chamber Series

Katherine Skovira, voice
Robert Whalen, percussion/piano

Text by Dafydd Ap Gwilym

The Wind

Sky-wind, unhindered course,
mighty commotion passing yonder,
you are a harsh-sounding minstrel,
world's fool without foot or wing.
It's amazing how wondrously you were sent
from the pantry of the sky without any feet,
and how swiftly you run
now across the hilltop on high.

Constant hymn, tell me your destination,
you north wind of the valley.
You fly the length and breadth of the world,
hilltop weather, be on high tonight,
oh man, and go to Uwch Aeron
nice and gently, a clear song.
Don't wait, don't restrain yourself,
don't be afraid despite Bwa Bach,
[he who] serves a malicious accusatory complaint.
The land and its nurture is closed to me.

[One who] steals nests, though you winnow leaves
no one indicts you, you are not restrained
by any swift troop, nor officer's hand,
nor blue blade nor flood nor rain.
No mother's son can kill you (false expression),
fire won't burn you, deceit won't weaken you.
You won't drown, you've been forewarned,
you won't get entangled, you are smooth.
There's no need for any swift horse beneath you,
or bridge over estuary, nor boat.
No official or retinue will arrest you
to bring you to judgement, winnower of treetop foliage.
No eyesight can see you, huge open lair,
thousands hear you, nest of the great rain.

You are God's blessing over all the earth,
roaring, fierce shattering of oak tree tops,
swift-natured notary of the sky,
fine leaper over many barren lands.
Dry nature, powerful creature,
trampler of the sky, immense journey,
shooter on snowfields up above,
noisy disperser of chaff-heaps,
storm agitating the sea,
high-spirited lad on beach waves,
you are a fine author of an awdl who scatters snow,
you are a scatterer, a pursuer of leaves,
free laugher [on] hilltop,
thruster of the wild-masted white-breasted sea.

Woe is me that I placed deep love
on Morfudd, my golden girl.
A maiden made me an exile,
run on high to her father's house.
Knock on the door, make it open
to my messenger before daybreak,
and seek a way to her, if there be one,
and sing the voice of my sigh.
You come from the splendid stars,
say this to my noble faithful maid:
as long as I be in the world,
I am a true servant.
Woeful is my face without her,
if it is true that she is not untrue.
Go up on high, you will see the fair girl,
go down below, sky's favourite.
Go to fair-haired Morfudd Llwyd,
come back safely, you are the sky's treasure.

Translation by http://www.dafyddapgwilym.net.