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Cordelia Jones: Gentle poet

When you are Welsh, and from the hills.
Your home is where the Heather lives.
Mountain sheep bleat here and there,
With birds singing happily in clean air

                                                      From Wales


South Wales in her glory in Summer that inspired the poetry of Cordelia Jones

There are some poets and writers who on principle, remain anonymous about their identities in order to focus attention on their work but I do not think it is fair on their part to do so. It is accepted that the character of the poet or writer is invariably reflected in their work. This also apply to all great composers who wrote massive, iconic scores and may have been under some complexity while others in their clan, introverts.

One such poet is Eira Cordelia Jones about whom nothing is known or for that matter. No one has seen even a portrait of her.

But she is very popular in Wales for her illustrative language and simple English so different to her internationally acclaimed writer, Dylan Thomas.

Jones’s first book of poetry, Time Won’t Wait was published in 1975.

Being aware that Welsh is the national language of Wales and English being sub-standard among the majority of Welsh nationals.

Cordelia Jones opted for lyrical, beautiful adoration for her people and their habitat.

South Wales is laden with an abundance of foliage and green, the meadows ripe with pastures, clean fresh air in the atmosphere, The woods heavy with singing birds, buzzing bees and day/night creatures prowling around the thick woods.

North Wales boasts of clean fresh water dripping down from the mountains, rippling in the pools below that make both South/Wales the pride of their ancestors.

These and others have drawn up Jones’s imagination in unlimited abundance.

She wallows in their magic and sparkle and write on their beautiful presence.

Around and free upon the mountains

As on the hills she likes to dwell...
Oh’ so delicate is the flower
In all her grace and beauty be;
Yet so strong she braves all weathers
As deeply rooted on high hill is she...

(From - Mountain Heather)

It is likely that highly academic people who read poetry will not find her work that great but she never wanted to be a ‘Wordsworth’, or a Milton or her own countryman, Dylam Thomas.

She did it her way, based on real life, on personal experiences which have imprinted themselves in her heart such as the unforgettable Aber-fan disaster, the Collier and Hell Beneath the Earth.

She always thought that best things in life were free such as health and happiness.

She praise their beauty and the sad plight of The Collier in her natural simple way.

‘Deep down the pit beneath the earth
with darkness all around
His brows are wet from running swat
From air so foul, and dust so thick...
On a Colier’s face you are bound to see
Proof of the life that he has seen...

(From A Colier’s Face)

She was astonishingly traditional, remove from a mature mind but deeply reflective in her writing. She lacked romantic spirit but made it up with her adoration for nature.

He blend of imagery expressions are at times, directed towards her struggle at childhood.

When she was a child, her other four siblings were abandoned by their mother.

The five children were left for the father to tend to.

It was a heart-rendering situation because the father had only one arm as he had lost the other in an accident. The great man that he was, he struggled for them, taught them what was right and wrong an gave them the strength to carry on regardless of the trying situations.

For twenty four years the struggle went on and told them he was ready to go only when they were on their feet.

And sorrowfully he passed away to his Maker, his duty done.

It was Cordellia who felt the impact more than the others and she dedicated Time Won’t Forget to her wonderful, gracious father.

The book also contains a special poem for her father that tells her life story with her and when I read it for the first time, tears welled in my eyes.

‘The way was hard, but struggle we must
But we had our dad to watch over us......
But now his work has all been done
And to his Maker, he has gone.
I pray, that in heaven, he has his reward
For the burden he carried for us in this world...

(From - My dad in a million)

The story of Jones’s life appears to have had diversity of aspects capable of stirring our minds with sympathy over her devoted love for her father.

It is unlikely she became rich with her writing but what she gained with her devotion to a brave father.

Supersede money and fame. Jones’s school character for several years was that of a little girl fond of nature an her environment. Her enthusiasm to study their secrets was an indication to her future poetry but she was always on hand to help her father.

Jones also celebrates the seasons lustrously,

‘As in Spring what joy to see
Snowdrops white with their leaves of green
With bleats of lamb, like a chorus we’d hear
As runing around the meadows they’d be....
And summer time beside the sea.....
And at Autumn when Summer ends....
When Winter will come with its coat of white....

(From those were the days)

..................................

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