A poem in old Welsh style
I am chief doctor unto six thousand,
My country of origin was the Land of Angles.
Ruth and Hilda called me Roger.
I was the question set Sir Gwain;
I am the father of three doctors;
I am the husband of their mother;
I am the voter much misled;
I am a debtor, yet a householder;
I am little Gwion's hurt child;
I am a sleeket cowering timorous beasty;
I am a dense thicket of thorne;
I am a carpenter with arms full of tools;
I am a communication channel
Of shining copper, without blemish or obstruction;
I am a thought in the mind of the whole;
I am a delusion of my right brain;
I am an epiphenomena of chaos;
I am the breath of God;
I am a fart from the backside of Annwyn;
These are all words
They are symbols of symbols.
Standing for something which they are not
All a delusion;
All an illusion.
I sail down the ski-jump of my breath;
I burst into the boundlessness of space;
I am recollected moment to moment
As a puff of smoke run backward.
I am the flame of a thermic lance
Which marks my track through space and time.
Then I was for five days
In the womb of Maenllwyd the cauldron
I was originally little Gwion
And at length I am Taliesin.
