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Good morning. The earliest collection of Welsh poetry is contained in a thirteenth century manuscript known as the Black Book of Carmarthen, which gets its title from the colour of its cover. I am particularly fond of one of its poems, sometimes given the title ‘Sadness in Springtime’. It was the first bit of verse that I translated from Welsh into English during my student days. And it seems particularly apt for today, ‘National Poetry Day’.

The anonymous author begins by acknowledging the signs of new life at the beginning of the year. Birds are singing, the grass is green, oxen draw ploughs across the fields, and the sea sparkles. But as he listens to the cuckoo’s song, the poet feels deep sadness. Remembering his friends who have died, he is struck by an intense sense of hiraeth. 

Hiraeth is a Welsh word that’ s sometimes said to be untranslatable. It refers to longing for something or someone or somewhere that is lost forever. It contains an anguish that pierces the soul, penetrating far beyond a superficial nostalgia.

The switch of mood from joy to gloom, from fullness of life to desolating emptiness, might seem final. But then a sudden thought transforms the poet’s mood. He tells us:
                                             On hills, in valleys, on the islands of the sea,
                                                      Wherever you may go,
                                              Because of holy Christ, there is no desert place.

Lord Jesus, we thank you for the new hope and new life that you offer us. Reach out to us with your wounded, healing hands in those moments when we are overcome by sadness, depression or loneliness. Help us always to be aware of your continuing love and care. Amen.