Llechwedd by Kathy Hopewell
Llun gan Emyr Roberts
Llechwedd, January 2019
and we all go together in the vertical sub-rock train, knee to knee, singing for fear
down
down
down
the scrape of helmets on slate overhang
puddled paths
rocking footholds
Llun gan Emyr Roberts
ghostly faces
water, but no sound of water
ripples, but no wind
clouds on the blackness above, but no sky
no sky here
the light of the sun is a god we have lost
a god we adore
it takes a minute of silence to absorb the space
the rock above the fact of it
then we can hear ourselves
it’s a performance for the darkness
the ground is empty and cold as hell but we are singing
clapping our hands and stamping our feet
breathing visibly
the women have come to the cavern bringing mothers’ lullabies
and the wives of the soldiers are seeking the lark that is dead
in the world of men and their long, lightless days
we light up the story of never having been here
we represent absent women, or women in disguise
women working so secretly that history has never caught sight of them
or turned a blind mole eye
Did he sneak her in to see?
Did she shudder, and ask to go home?
Did he look back and turn her to stone?
the cavern of history is full of women’s voices
we have sung away the taboo
we are the spell-breakers, the reversers of the curse
by Kathy Hopewell
Images from Llechwedd Canu Chwarel workshop and Merched Chwarel’s Llechwedd exhibition (running to 2nd November 2019), by Lindsey Colbourne