When the ‘awen’ is absent
On fire, burning wildly; the pressure like petrol,
pouring more fuel on the catastrophe. Charred now,
stumbling, bewilderedly functional, numb.
Surrounded by mess, I close my mind,
my eyes, my ears — to everything.
A cloak surrounds me, like a cold stone wall;
there’s no hope of the ‘awen’ penetrating this dam. My heart
has shattered into small pieces and been scattered everywhere.
Unable to concentrate on anything but the wall in front of me.
My anxiety chews at my conscience — I’m guilty,
of being a total failure. I try to force myself to write, but
it makes me lightheaded. The words are not my friends, currently,
and they feel far away — strange and unkind. What will
become of me, if I can’t drag myself from this pit of despair?
Who will I be if I can’t channel my thoughts — for others to read?
*
I’m watching the mist of ideas, spiralling in front of me,
flowing like a river, past me, and back again — in new, interesting
shapes. My mind is full of possibilities and the ‘awen’ is piercing,
like pins and needles, when the feeling returns to a leg or an arm.
I feel again, and I care again — thank goodness for that!
I see patterns, and I hear whispers, in the mist all around me;
I stretch out an arm to try and grab some of them
- and I listen carefully to what they are trying to reveal to me.
It is challenging, transferring them to the page, into beautiful,
poetic sentences. And I fumble in my deep fatigue.
The ‘awen’ comes to me now, clearly, like a blast in my ear,
whole verses reveal themselves, from nowhere, without trying
- as I sleep, cook, and take a turn in the Jacuzzi!
Like bubbles inside me the ideas collect,
boiling over the edge, in a race to be shared.
I’d like to thank those, who supported me, and helped me,
encouraging me, back from that terrifying brink. I catch hold of
the ‘awen’, treasuring it anew. I’ll never again take my ability
to write for granted. I am so grateful for being able to
return to health, and to have the ‘awen’ back once more.
This poem is a translation of my poem ‘Pan na ddaw’r awen’, which was published on Meddwl.org and accompanied a belles lettres about ‘burnout’ and the creative process, which can be found here, with the English version here. The Welsh version of the poem was also later published in the anthology for ‘Gŵyl y Ferch 2020'.
