Afonydd: Poems for Welsh Rivers / Cerddi Afonydd Cymru is a Welsh / English bilingual anthology of poems that brings together 50 talented voices from every corner of Wales. Each poet reflects on a personal experience of a Welsh watercourse. Exploring the river in all its forms, the works meander from the smallest brooks all the way to the wide estuary of the River Severn. The result is an impressive and diverse portrayal of Wales and its waters.
In "To the nameless ones" / "I’r Rhai Dienw," Graheme Davies
… invoke[s] them all:
These overlooked companions of the hill
that make their way where only curlews call,
and never had a name and never will.
Ond fe ddathlaf nhw i gyd,
cynheiliaid anghofiedig pant a glyn,
sy’n gweu eu ffordd ymhell o sylw’r byd
ar hynt anhysbys rhwng y grug a’r chwyn.
In "River Nevern at Newport" / "Nyfer yn Nhrefdraeth," Iris Anne Lewis writes: "This river knows two languages" / "Mae i’r afon hon ddwy iaith."
I read the English version of the poems and love how true they feel. The language is engaging and beautiful. I am sure readers of the Welsh will find each piece as inspired and gorgeous. Absolute gems are offered through sublime observations of the human condition, elsewhere, through an intense reach into nature. The book stitches together patches of history, landscape and life into stories that enchant with their depth. Shimmering layers mindful of all senses, touch, taste, smell, sights and sounds are woven through one tale to another. The poetry is lucid, and so much goes on beneath the surface, you emerge refreshed as from a dip in the cool of a clear mountain stream.
From farmland to mudflats, people-babble to water-babble, words roam through wild places, through the weird and the familiar. At the heart of this anthology is an intimate connection to the intricacies of love, the shape of community and value of friendship but also the dangers and contradictions of life, the risks of human existence.
In "Swimming at the Dwyfor" / "Nofio yn Afon Dwyfor," Zoë Brigley writes:
Before I left, she asked Are you going alone? By which she meant
without a human companion, and she was right, though I
was not on my own, the golden water winking and shimmering
on the surface, plunging over rocks and shifting silt …
... I found what I wanted
there in the water, a dark chill like the bronze of armour.
Cyn i mi adael, holodd Wyt ti’n mynd dy hun? Golygai
heb gwmni pobl, ac mi oedd hi’n iawn, er doeddwn i ddim
ar fy mhen fy hun, y dyfroedd aur yn wincio a disgleirio
ar y wyneb, yn llamu tros greigiau ac yn gogri llaid……
... Darganfyddais yr hyn a geisiwn
yma yn y dŵr, ias oer dywyll fel efydd arfwisg.
With a keen eye, the authors explore just how precarious life can be but also how precious. Fragility / resilience, grief / joy, compassion / vigour are laid side by side. Open-minded and grounded in the everyday as well as the extraordinary, they ask what binds us together, what it means to feel at home in your own skin. We discover harmonies in the darkest places to reminder us of hope and the power of regeneration.
As we wander through these drenched pages, autumn gives way to winter, sings through to summer accompanied by the music of birds and animals, the ripple of flow and reed. There are ponies, mayflies, cats, trout, crabs, otters.
In "Shore Mares" / "Cesig y Glannau," Natalie Ann Holborow writes:
The ponies sop to land’s edges, eyes huge
and tender, brown as cherry-pits. Churning
wet marram, briny earth, currents
bucking around them – the sound of something
disappearing – as if the Earth were swallowing
shock, alarmed at her own quick waters,
cockles rattling her throat like pearls.
Mae’r merlod yn mwydo i ffin y tir, llygaid anferth
a thyner, brown fel cerrig ceirios. Corddi
y moresg gwlyb, y ddaear hallt, a’r cerrynt
yn troi o’u hamgylch – sŵn rhywbeth
yn diflannu – fel petai’r Ddaear yn llyncu
ei syndod, ei dyfroedd chwim ei hun yn ei dychryn,
cocos yn clecian ar ei ei gwddf fel perlau.”
A deep feeling for the natural world tackles how we pollute, exhaust, throttle, try to tame the river. These poems peck at our consciousness, shows us that constant intrusion destroys the countryside, brings floods to towns and village. We cannot flee the truth that human activity not only endangers vulnerable species but puts our own health and well-being at risk.
In "Will-o’-the-Wisp at Splott" / "Tân Annwn yn y Sblot," Gareth Writer-Davies writes:
the plastic mud returns
taking on the shape of what it captures
rusty tools, old jetties, flint arrowheads
scraped debris from all ages ...
dychwela’r llaid plastigaidd
gan ddwyn ffurf yr hyn mae’n ei ddal
offer rhydlyd, hen lanfeydd, blaenau saethau fflint
geriach garw drwy’r oesoedd ...
In "The Uninvited Guest" / "Yr Ymwelydd na Wahoddwyd," Tracey Rhys writes:
I loved the Ogmore
until it came to stay,
bringing a soupçon
of despair
Roeddwn yn gwirioni ar afon Ogwr
nes y daeth i aros,
gan ddod â cheiniogwerth
o anobaith
On the theme of belonging, the last poem, "Binary" / "Deuaidd" by Adele Evershed, ends with a powerful message about what it means to go home: "late sunshine my shadow settles back inside my body" / "heulwen yr hwyr fy nghysgod yn swatio yn ôl yn fy nghorff."
About the reviewer
Doryn Herbst, a former water industry scientist working in Wales, now lives in Germany. Her writing considers the natural world and themes which address social issues. Poetry in print and online, including: The Wild Word, Ink Sweat & Tears, Mugwort Magazine and Poetry Wales. Doryn has a collection coming out with Yaffle Press in spring 2026 called A Barbed and Twisted Place.
