To My Father


I Fy Nhad


Edrychaist mor hapus

Yn dy weithdy gyda’r cyn

A minnau’n meddwl

Fy mod i’n gerddor

Neu ryw fath o wleidydd


Cymerais rhy hir i ddeall

Ar ôl dy farwolaeth drist

Mai bardd ydwyf a dim mwy

Nawr rwy’n cerfio geiriau

Er mwyn dy ddilyn di.




In the workshop with your chisels

You seemed at peace with the world

And I thought I was somebody,

A singer and musician

Or some kind of politician.


Took me too long to find out

I was a poet through and through,

So now I carve words non stop,

Just to try and take after you.


David Subacchi


David Subacchi was born in Wales (UK) of Italian roots and studied at the University of Liverpool. David has 4 published collections of his English Language poetry and one in Welsh. His work has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies worldwide.


Anonymous said…
Don’t see much Welsh writing. Very impressive.
Beautiful depth of emotions.
Jenni Wyn Hyatt said…
Well done, Ariel Chart, for publishing the poem in both languages!
Sy Albright said…
We only do that with rare languages. Last year we did Icelandic.
Dai Owen said…

The words break the heart, and then give it purpose and direction
Ruth Z Deming said…
Lovely, and in so few words, you created a picture of your dad.
Anonymous said…
we love carving the worfs with good reason. Beautiful poem.
Walt Page said…
What a wonderful tribute to your father. Beautifully written.
I adore the irony and the sentiment. So often we don't realise who we are until the model from whom we are sculpted is gone.

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