To be Welsh in the Rhondda Valley
To be Welsh in the Rhondda Valley
is to change buses at the roundabout in Porth;
it’s to speak the language of steam and coal,
with an accent that grates like anthracite —
no plum in the mouth for us;
no polish, just spit and phlegm
that cut through dust and grit,
pit-head elocution lessons hacked from the coal-face
or purchased in the corner store at Tonypandy.
And we sing deep, rolling hymns
that surge from suffering and the eternal longing
for a light that never breaks underground
where we live out our lives and no owners roam.
Here flame and gas spell violent death.
The creaking of the pit-prop
warns of the song-bird soon to be silent in its cage …
… and hymn and heart are stopped in our throats,
when, after the explosion, the dust settles down,
and high above us the black crowds gather.
rogermoorepoet 
“Actually, I am a “parrot” and I end up imitating the accent of whoever am talking with.”
Uhhh…yes, and which is always met by my children, with much rolling of eyes and comments of, “Ohgoodlord, there she goes again…”!
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I am loving to be welsh series… excellent mr moore
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Thank you so much. Lots of my childhood memories tied up in these. Maybe I’ll post the whole series. I read ten of them with regularity, but some of the early ones have slipped by the wayside. I’ll check them out.
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It is excellent. It got me to thinking of Dylan Thomas who ( more trivial connections to follow) was discovered by Victor Neuberg, a disciple of Aleistair Crowley. Another Crowley disciple was Gerald Yorke who was Henry Greens brother. Henry Green shared a lover, Kitty Freud I believe, with Dylan Thomas who was Lucians Freud first wife. I realise that is of no consequence but anyway.
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It’s really amazing… The depths of your knowledge
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Hmm it is a dubious distinction
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Hmm, I don’t think so.
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It is really… I should have learnt something useful
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The problem with learning something useful is that it is almost immediately out of date. The most useful thing to know is how to teach yourself to learn something new so that you are always learning, always on the move and never static. As a teacher, I took great pride in teaching my students how they could teach themselves and do away with me and my influence. As a result, I have few followers, but many leaders, most of whom are now capable of teaching me.
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Coming home covered with dust every day takes its toll on a man!
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Indeed it does: and the old tin bath in the warmth of the coal fire in the kitchen, before they instituted the pit-head baths. Max Boyce: “And the pithead baths are a supermarket now.”
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Takes to the point of reality. I will post one for you this evening!
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Good morning, R: This poem is wonderful. Outstanding. You’ve taken me there. Cheers, Chuck
On Tue, Sep 27, 2016 at 9:54 AM, rogermoorepoetdotcom wrote:
> rogermoorepoet posted: ” To be Welsh in the Rhondda Valley To be Welsh > in the Rhondda Valley is to change buses at the roundabout in Porth; it’s > to speak the language of steam and coal, with an accent that grates like > anthracite — no plum in the mouth for us; no poli” >
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Thanks, Chuck. The Welsh poems were always something different. On or near the coalfield everybody knew somebody whose family worked in the mines. As a result, an underground explosion touched the whole community. Everybody was affected because we all always knew someone, man, woman, or child, who was involved.
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How green was my valley… I love the Welsh accent though! So musical!
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Thanks, Meg. The Welsh accent varies from region to region and it can be very musical (often) and sometimes quite harsh. I am from the same area as Dylan Thomas and my Welsh speaking voice when I read /perform Welsh poetry is very similar to his, partly because I have listened to so much of his poetry. A very soft lilt in my case.
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Ooh! That’s lovely!
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Actually, I am a “parrot” and I end up imitating the accent of whoever am talking with. This can be very embarrassing or very amusing, depending!
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Haha! I do the same thing! One of these days I’m going to offend someone!
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