Book Review: Dyn ar Dân by Martin Huws

Ant Evans

Dyn ar Dân (Man on Fire) is Martin Huws’ first volume of poetry, following on from his novel, “Mae Heddwch yn Brifo” (Peace Hurts) in 2009 and a collection of micro stories “Yr Awyr yn Troi’n Inc” (The Sky Turns to Ink) in 2018.

In addition to Huws’s poetry however, the reader is also treated to a striking series of black and white photographs, scattered throughout this volume, which, along with the cover photo, have been taken by London based photographer Carys Huws, the poet’s daughter.

In this volume’s introduction, penned by Cyril Jones, we are told not only how it was poetry which sparked the friendship between himself and Huws, but it’s also spelt out to the reader what is the golden thread running through Huws’ work –  the cause of the oppressed (all translations into English within this review are provided by the reviewer):

“Mae pledio achos y gorthrymedig yn themau gyson yn ei weithiau. Dywedodd wrthyf yn ystod un o’n sgyrsiau: ‘Mae’n bosib yn aml ddod yn nes at y gwirionedd trwy wisgo masg rhywun arall.’ ”

“Arguing the cause of the oppressed are consistent themes in his works. He once told me during one of our conversations: ‘It’s often possible to get closer to the truth by wearing someone else’s mask.’ ”

The initial poem, Olwyn (Wheel) takes the reader on a trip back in time to the Rhondda in 1990. True to the above quotation, Huws paints a vivid picture for the reader of the experiences of an ex miner and his life away from the mine:

“Gyda thoriad y wawr
rhwta ei lygad wrth adel.
Rhytha ymhen tipyn yn hiraethus
ond delwi mae’r olwyn
yn ffram fferu amgueddfa.

Wrth groesi’r bont grog,
ril archif sy’n rowlio yn ei ben
fel troellen pen pwll
yn crensian.

Bob wthnos yn bybyr
gyrra lanciau awchus a bregus i Wlad yr Haf
o ble heidiau milo’dd, gan gynnnwys ei hen hen dad-cu,
i wlad hud a golud.

Ond ar stryd gul y cwm
breuder a brad oer
sy’n rhewi llanc hyd ar fêr ei esgyrn.

Gobeth caneri sydd yn y lle dôl
wrth i’w ddicter grynhoi fel nwy dan ddaear:
‘Gwarchod chwarel. Swyddog diogelwch.
Wyth deg punt yr wythnos.
Un amod, angen ci eich hunan’

Bob wthnos yn bybyr,
ffyddiog y mae na ddiffodda,
y syrffia ar don rhyw freuddwyd
‘rôl syrffedu lledu tar ar strydoedd llydan.

Ond ar y ffordd ‘nôl,
ar drai yn araf mae’r afon
a dig yw’r gwynt sy’n siglo ei degan
o fan.

Am weddill yr wthnos
fe gicia’i sodle, pob tasg ar ei hanner.

Heb yn wybod iddo,
wrth deithio’r ochr draw,
dant yw yn nhreigl amser
wrth i olwyn hanes wneud tro crwn.”

(Translation)

“At the break of dawn
he rubs his eye as he leaves.
He stares longingly for a moment
But the wheel is like a statue
The frozen frame of a museum.

As he crosses the hanging bridge
a reel of archive footage rolls in his head
just as a wheel at the top of a pit
crunches.

Each week valiantly
He drives eager and vulnerable lads to Somerset
From whence many once flocked, including his great, great grandfather,
To the land of milk and honey.

But on the valley’s narrow street
There is precariousness and cold betrayal
enough to freeze a young man to the marrow in his bones.

There’s absolutely no hope in the dole office
As his anger accumulates like underground gas
‘Guarding a quarry. Security officer.
Eighty pounds a week
One catch, you need your own dog.’

Each week valiantly,
Confident that there is relief
He surfs on the wave of some dream
Having tired of spreading tar along wide streets.

But on the way back,
The river is slowly ebbing
And angry is the wind which shakes his toy-like
van.

For the rest of the week
he waits impatiently, each task half finished.

Unbeknownst to him,
Whilst travelling to the other side,
He’s a cog in the passage of time,
As the wheel of history turns full circle.”

Pit head

Accompanying the above poem is a striking black and white photograph of a stationary pit head wheel, underscoring the economic and societal changes that happened in the Rhondda, as well as in other communities where coal was formerly such a central aspect of life. Between the photograph and the poem’s words, envisaging the scenario portrayed, and its accompanying frustrations, is made incredibly easy for the reader.

Another instance of time travel is offered to the reader in “Protest”. On this occasion, Huws transports the reader to 1968 and the televised news stories of the student protests in Paris:

“Yn ein siacedi Wrangler trwsiadus
sychedwn am bob diferyn o’r stori
wrth lynu at sgrin.

Dwyfol yw’r Sarsaparilla ar dafod.
Sia’r diod
Fel nwy dagrau ar y Boulevard Saint-Michel.

Lapia menyw ifanc ei chariad
yn amdo hen got law fochedd.
Ar ben mae ei byd. Cafodd ei fwrw’n bedwar

Ai dig’wilydd yw de Gaulle?
Ddaw i ben ei fytholeg wrth i’w deyrnas wegian?

Uwchben Paris
Llwythog yw’r nen wa’th wylo seiren syn.
Cyn gorffwys heria’r myfyrwyr y cŵn gorffwyll
a haid ddihidio
sy’n brysur fel tŷ’n ferw o bryfed.

Weithiau daw taranfollt,
penglogau’n gnau’n hollti.

Ninnau’n gwylio swigod ein delfrydiaeth
yn pefrio
yn ein gwydrau gloyw.

Ond bydd y tân yn is
pan fydd siapiau sinistr arholiadau’n nesáu.”

(Translation)

“In our tidy Wrangler jackets
We thirst for each drop of the story
As we’re glued to the screen.

The taste of Sarsapilla is heavenly on the tongue.
The drink hisses
as does the tear gas on Boulevard Saint-Michel.

A young women wraps her lover
in a dirty old rain coat.
Her world comes to an end. He was knocked on all fours.

Is de Gaulle shameless?
Will his mythology come to an end as his kingdom is rocked?

Above Paris,
The sky is heavy despite the wailing of the astounding sirens.
Before resting the students challenge the frenzied dogs
and unheeding pack
busy as a house swarming with flies.

At times, a thunderbolt comes,
skulls split as if they’re nuts.

We watch the bubbles of our idealism
fizzing
in our clear glasses.

But the fire will subside
when the sinister shapes of exams draw nearer.”

Imagery

Whilst there isn’t any photography to accompany this particular poem, the effective use of imagery by Huws made this reader feel as though he was almost sat there watching the news in 1968.

As a contrast to the first two poems mentioned in this review, much as this reviewer has enjoyed reading them and the others included in this collection, there’s one poem that sticks in the mind for me. It’s Gwead (A Weaving). Here the poet takes us back in time to the summer of 1963 to discuss identity:

“Beth yw Cymreictod?

Nage breuddwyd ar ffo yn niwlo’dd amser
ond cyfres o gyfenwau ar gofrestr Dosbarth 2
yn haf 1963.
Fe glywaf lais yr athro
fel ‘se fe’n coffáu’r ymadawedig:

Ackland, Ali, Evans…Hussein, Jenkins, Jugessur,
McDermott…Rashid, Robinson…

Ni oedd y Cenhedloedd Unedig,
ein dryswch yn frawdol mewn gwers fathemateg.

Gwead oedd ein byd,
paentiad wedi ei nyddu ynghyd
cyn i ni gwrdd â bywyd.”

“What is Welshness?

Not a dream lost in the mists of time
but a series of surnames on the Form 2 register
during the summer of 1963.
I hear the teacher’s voice
as if he were calling to mind the departed:

Ackland, Ali, Evans…Hussein, Jenkins, Jugessur,
McDermott…Rashid, Robinson…

We were the United Nations,
our confusion during a mathematics lesson brotherly.

Our world was a weaving,
a portrait spun together
before we encountered life.”

A strength of Dyn ar Dân is the variety of scenarios which Huws brings to the readers attention.

This, the fact that the poems included don’t deal exclusively in the present day (or indeed Wales), but take the reader on a time travelling journey to many points in the past, not to mention to many places around the world. Globe trotting, time travel and the striking photographs which accompany many of the poems here, make Dyn ar Dân a must read.

Dyn ar Dân by Martin Huws is published by Gwasg Y Bwthyn and is available from all good bookshops.