Every year from classes from Cardiff to the far reaches of Bedlinog, Welsh learners come to attend the annual Ysgol Haf (used to be Cwrs Haf) at Prifysgol De Cymru in Trefforest.
I have been going since I was in the Sylfaen ( Foundation) class, up through Canolradd to Uwch.
You become immersed in the language during the week. It becomes another element.
Words and phrases begin to swim in your head and you even dream in Welsh.
The other people on the course are as inspirational as the tutors themselves.
One learner, who has lived in Swindon for most of his life but was originally from the Rhondda, now speaks with far more fluidity than me.
I'm amazed that he has largely learnt the language himself and that he plans to spend his whole summer volunteering at the Eisteddfod in Y Fenni and moving from one course to the next.
The key words are 'rhugl' ( fluent) and 'hyder' ( confidence).
The more I study, the less 'rhugl' I feel , yet cannot deny that my confidence has increased.
I am now willing to converse despite the fact that I make mistakes.
A few years ago ( especially before I met Jamie Bevan, who would only speak Welsh to me) I was a reluctant speaker, extremely nervous and wary of making errors.
Others who attended the course were equally inspirational, like the Englishman who only started lessons because his wife had done and now considers himself 'an honorary Welshman'.
One younger man ( many on the course were retired, it's true) has progressed from Mynediad to Sylfaen, and is determined to be fluent as soon as possible.
To him it's a sense of purpose and belonging and he reminds me of Jamie's dad Gari, who won last year's Dysgwr y Flwyddyn.
It's that single-mindedness and passion which stands out.
People have all kinds of reasons for learning Welsh, but none of them are mercenary.
The enthusiasm of both tutors and learners is like a submarine world seen for the first time : phrases finning through the hollows and words appearing from beneath the sand.
Sometimes currents of learning can overwhelm and you're carried in directions you can't control and tiredness makes you yearn for the surface.
When I tell fellow learners that my 'uchelgais' ( ambition) is to write much more poetry in Welsh, they look at me as if I'm a merman!
When I learnt that the excellent singer-songwriter Steve Eaves originally came to study in Cymru from Stoke-on-Trent and only learnt the language because his house-mate at Uni was a Welsh-speaker from Yr Wyddgrug, I feel there's hope for me yet.
At times the water's murky and I'm struggling for breath.
At others, there are poems, songs and idioms which are captivating as exotic creatures moving gracefully with rainbow colours.
Maybe I should take up scuba diving instead?
No, this is a way leading to many others : history, literature and family and also my country's future.
Risings can take many different forms : football fans who embrace Welsh songs ; poetry-lovers who create an alternative culture and learners who choose to call themselves 'Welsh' no matter what their background.
Small risings, but vital ones.
We tend to neglect these as we navigate our journeys, thinking only of tides and storms.
This is a poem I wrote at Grahame Davies' workshop in Soar, which I have translated :-
YN CODI
Lllynedd yn yr Wyl
roedd llun o SAFIAD MERTHYR
ar dalcen y ty.
Ro’n nhw’n paentio fe mas
ac ar hyn o bryd
mae sgaffaldiau yno.
Dan y llun sgwennodd un gwrthryfelwr
‘Fe Godwn Ni Eto’;
ar ol hynny y ‘NF’ ffasgaidd.
Dw i’n gallu clywed lleisiau
tlodion 1831
‘Caws a bara!’ ac ‘I lawr a’r Brenin!’
Nawr, mae llawer yn teimlo
ar eu pennau eu hunain,
‘sdim angen i godi o gwbl.
RISING
In last year’s Festival
A mural of the Rising
On the gable-end.
They painted it out
And in that place
There is only scaffolding.
One rebel graffitied there
‘We will rise again’ ;
Then fascists scrawled ‘NF’.
I can hear the voices
Of the poor of 1831
‘Cheese and bread!’ and ‘Down with the king!’
Now, so many ancestors
Feel they’re on their own,
With no reason to rise at all.
I have been going since I was in the Sylfaen ( Foundation) class, up through Canolradd to Uwch.
You become immersed in the language during the week. It becomes another element.
Words and phrases begin to swim in your head and you even dream in Welsh.
The other people on the course are as inspirational as the tutors themselves.
One learner, who has lived in Swindon for most of his life but was originally from the Rhondda, now speaks with far more fluidity than me.
I'm amazed that he has largely learnt the language himself and that he plans to spend his whole summer volunteering at the Eisteddfod in Y Fenni and moving from one course to the next.
The key words are 'rhugl' ( fluent) and 'hyder' ( confidence).
The more I study, the less 'rhugl' I feel , yet cannot deny that my confidence has increased.
I am now willing to converse despite the fact that I make mistakes.
A few years ago ( especially before I met Jamie Bevan, who would only speak Welsh to me) I was a reluctant speaker, extremely nervous and wary of making errors.
Others who attended the course were equally inspirational, like the Englishman who only started lessons because his wife had done and now considers himself 'an honorary Welshman'.
One younger man ( many on the course were retired, it's true) has progressed from Mynediad to Sylfaen, and is determined to be fluent as soon as possible.
To him it's a sense of purpose and belonging and he reminds me of Jamie's dad Gari, who won last year's Dysgwr y Flwyddyn.
It's that single-mindedness and passion which stands out.
People have all kinds of reasons for learning Welsh, but none of them are mercenary.
The enthusiasm of both tutors and learners is like a submarine world seen for the first time : phrases finning through the hollows and words appearing from beneath the sand.
Sometimes currents of learning can overwhelm and you're carried in directions you can't control and tiredness makes you yearn for the surface.
When I tell fellow learners that my 'uchelgais' ( ambition) is to write much more poetry in Welsh, they look at me as if I'm a merman!
When I learnt that the excellent singer-songwriter Steve Eaves originally came to study in Cymru from Stoke-on-Trent and only learnt the language because his house-mate at Uni was a Welsh-speaker from Yr Wyddgrug, I feel there's hope for me yet.
At times the water's murky and I'm struggling for breath.
At others, there are poems, songs and idioms which are captivating as exotic creatures moving gracefully with rainbow colours.
Maybe I should take up scuba diving instead?
No, this is a way leading to many others : history, literature and family and also my country's future.
Risings can take many different forms : football fans who embrace Welsh songs ; poetry-lovers who create an alternative culture and learners who choose to call themselves 'Welsh' no matter what their background.
Small risings, but vital ones.
We tend to neglect these as we navigate our journeys, thinking only of tides and storms.
This is a poem I wrote at Grahame Davies' workshop in Soar, which I have translated :-
YN CODI
Lllynedd yn yr Wyl
roedd llun o SAFIAD MERTHYR
ar dalcen y ty.
Ro’n nhw’n paentio fe mas
ac ar hyn o bryd
mae sgaffaldiau yno.
Dan y llun sgwennodd un gwrthryfelwr
‘Fe Godwn Ni Eto’;
ar ol hynny y ‘NF’ ffasgaidd.
Dw i’n gallu clywed lleisiau
tlodion 1831
‘Caws a bara!’ ac ‘I lawr a’r Brenin!’
Nawr, mae llawer yn teimlo
ar eu pennau eu hunain,
‘sdim angen i godi o gwbl.
RISING
In last year’s Festival
A mural of the Rising
On the gable-end.
They painted it out
And in that place
There is only scaffolding.
One rebel graffitied there
‘We will rise again’ ;
Then fascists scrawled ‘NF’.
I can hear the voices
Of the poor of 1831
‘Cheese and bread!’ and ‘Down with the king!’
Now, so many ancestors
Feel they’re on their own,
With no reason to rise at all.
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