Three poems

Rewriting the Triads of the Island of Britain

 After the medieval Trioedd Ynys Prydein

April, end of, blue sky, a chill in the air
one of the Fortunate Men of the Island of Prydein
sitting in a garden overlooking the sea
listening to blackbirds, the far-off shut of a door
I am rewriting the Triads, remembering
Rosa, Marie, Julia Long Golden Hair,
Three Women who Received the Beauty of Eve
and how like the sea they slipped from me
too easily—a litany of waves falls and
overwrites its moment.  O, how the sun silvers
the sea’s hand in the evening, it draws me back
to the Three Great Enchantments
and my work, listing—Capital,
the Solace of Purchase, its Pleasant Green—
and though the blackbirds sing, the Three
Steeds of Burden, Three Horses of Plunder
lumber onto my tongue and I wonder
what is it about Britain that names surfeit
like floods in spring for the Three Arrogant Men,
the Three Men of Shame, the Three Hard Slaps
that fell on the Island of Prydein
in the Year of our Lord, 2021.

Interlude

The middle of May, a mile off
traffic competes in the garden with birds
where I sit, wind in my hair
watching leaves repeat their dancing.

Over Garreg Fawr clouds hurry
in search of their ending — I close my eyes
put for a moment the day behind me
try to hear beyond the road’s rumble

a blackbird’s song, it’s simple cheer
delight when she comes near me.

Above Llanfairfechan

October, middle of, a slight chill in the air,
I’m sitting in the garden listening to a dog yelp
on the far hill, the year gathering its short clothes
for today’s last hurrah.  Tomorrow, I hear,
in the butcher’s, the plastic-free shop, on the street
it will turn cold, and doom lies heavy upon us,
so I let the sun play on me soft fireside warmth,
watch the last breeze of summer drag its heels
through the oak leaves, the Menai slowly empty
and in its way, were this all it would be perfect
but for the ins, the outs, of a left-behind wasp
wondering—here
here
no, there.

here
here
no, there.

Ego, id, super ego;
Father, Son, Holy Ghost.
You’d think things come in threes.

Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva,
the Hindu Trimurti;
the three Zoroastrian virtues—

‘good thoughts’
‘good words’
‘good deeds’.

Perhaps they do.

Tawhid, Nabuwwa, Imama, the three core principles of the Shia tradition;
Maiden, Mother, Crone, the Triple Goddess of Wicca;
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob — the three Jewish patriarchs.

Zeus, Poseidon, Hades — the three sons of Cronos;
the three treasures of Taoism
compassion, frugality, humility;

the three graces — Algaea, Euphrosyne, Thalia;
the sword, the mirror, the jewel — the three regalia of imperial Japan;
the three primes of alchemy

salt
sulphur
mercury

hunger, wounding, hanging, the three hardships endured by Odin;
the three sides, three vertices of a triangle;
thesis, antithesis, synthesis;

the three parts of a haiku;
codons - the nucleotide triplets in DNA sequences;
youth, maturity, old age;

count, one, two, three
go, the three sections of a triptych;
the lion, the witch, the wardrobe;

the good
the bad
and the ugly.

The first unique prime number, threes are everywhere, and perhaps no more so than in early Welsh poetry, which is replete with events and characters grouped together into threes by virtue of some shared good, bad, and sometimes downright ugly association. These are the trioedd of Welsh poetry.

In her book, Trioedd Ynys Prydein: the Triads of the Island of Britain (University of Wales Press), Rachel Bromwich draws together close on one hundred triads from those which have come down to us from medieval Welsh literature. Early Welsh poetry was oral in nature and little of the earliest survives today (Aneirin and Taliesin being rare 6th century exceptions). The bardic tradition was one of praise poetry. Great deeds were sung, princes and warriors remembered, lineage (both blood and lore) passed by word down. Poets (who more often than not fought in the battles they describe) would extemporise in the hall and it is generally held that they would in part learn their trade through memorising the triads. In this way, whenever their silken tongues required, they could call up any such as the three brave men of the island of Britain (trioedd 22), the three unfortunate hatchet blows (trioedd 34), and the three lively ladies (trioedd 79).

My poem, Rewriting the Triads of the Island of Britain, draws inspiration from the trioedd (or triads) in an act of personal and cultural remembrance and links both past and present by borrowing directly from some of the epithets in Rachel Bromwich’s collation of Trioedd Ynys Prydein. I happened to be sitting in the garden when I began the poem — not, in fact in 2021, but at the end of April 2020. Peak pandemic in the UK. Incompetence, arrogance, callousness. The poem was not published that year and, given that the habits of the powerful never change, I was able to change 2020 to 2021 with no real loss. The sentiment would apply equally to 2022. Pick your year. They are manifold. The poem was published PN Review (issue 266), alongside Above Llanfairfechan, another poem penned whilst sitting in the garden and one which intentionally plays upon the other. Interlude was written following the publication of both poems and it feels right to me that it sits between the two and forms with them a triptych of sorts. My own little triad.