A Poem by / Cerdd gan Jonathan Kinsman

Translated by / Cyfieithwyd gan Siân Melangell Dafydd

what the deep ocean said to the billionaire

whatever you’re looking for, it isn’t down here,
not in all these unfathomed depths, waters darker
than human eyes can differentiate, the planet
groaning around you, a rumbling digestive system,
and you in your tiny capsule playing argonaut.
there’s kids like you all over, crumbling beneath
boredom when everything comes too easy.
give them a rocket, a race-car, a submarine.
they say i’ve got to go further, faster, deeper.
rotate the board, show me the next level, let me
carry on winning. go on then, here’s some extra
pressure: a grasping tentacle to steal your breath;
opening night tickets to the abyss. you lucky
devil— eaten up as canapé, the most expensive,
unethical paté, before i swallow up your cliffside
mansions, entire landmasses, colossal leviathan
unhinging its divine jaw on the entire human race.

stupid little man, you’ve crawled into my cup.
the ocean’s only blue because it’s looking up.

yr hyn a ddywedodd y cefnfor dwfn wrth y biliwnydd

beth bynnag wyt ti’n chwilio amdano, nid lawr yn fan hyn mae o,
nid yn yr holl ddyfnderoedd dienw yma, dŵr tywyllach
nag y gall llygaid dynol wahaniaethu, y blaned
yn griddfan o’th gwmpas, yn rymblan system dreulio,
ti â’th gapsiwl bach yn chwarae argonawt.
mae plant fel ti ym mhobman, yn gwegian dan bwysau
diflastod pan fydd popeth yn rhy hawdd.
ar ôl rhoi roced iddynt, car rasio, llong danfor,
maen nhw'n dweud rhaid i mi fynd ymhellach, yn gyflymach, yn ddyfnach.
cylchdroi'r bwrdd, dangosa’r lefel nesaf i mi, gad i mi
ennill ag ennill. Dos felly, dyma ychydig o bwysau
ychwanegol: tentacl grymus i ddwyn dy anadl;
i gynnig agoriad i’r affwys. y diawl
lwcus – wedi dy fwyta fel canapé, y paté anfoesol,
drutaf, cyn i mi lowcio dy blastai ar
y clogwyni, tiroedd cyfan, lefiathan enfawr
gan ddatod gên ddwyfol ar yr hil ddynol i gyd.

y dyn bach gwirion, rwyt ti wedi cropian i’m cwpan.
dyw’r cefnfor ond yn las gan ei fod yn edrych i fyny.

Jonathan Kinsman (he/him) is a trans poet living in High Peak. His poetry has appeared in many anthologies and journals, including Bad Lilies, Butcher’s Dog, Fourteen Poems, Poetry Wales, The Rialto and Under The Radar. As well as being a performer and slam champion, he has written several pamphlets and his debut collection, The Fireman’s Daughter, is out now with Broken Sleep Books. Find him online @manykinsmen