The island of Deyrnas Deseroso is located in the Northern Hemisphere of a planet called Lurra, in the Esnebidea galaxy. In recent years, there have been reports of widespread dissatisfaction and unrest amongst the population, particularly in relation to the ongoing dispute regarding its positioning on the global stage. However, whilst the political manoeuvres of its constituent governments are subject to daily broadcasts and analysis, little is known about the ways in which the citizens of D.D. are coping with the increased psychological strain of living within this state of perpetual uncertainty.
Due to growing concern about the detrimental effects that this may be having on public health, the Sen Ona Council for Anthropological Research commissioned a four-year ethnographic study, to collect a cross-section of data on personal and community ritualistic behaviour. The findings were encouraging, with the most striking being that citizens appear to draw strength and resilience from one activity in particular – that of enigmatology. The following summary provides an overview of the kinds of rituals engaged in, which appeared to offer comfort and relief, during these dark and uncomfortable times.
Enigmatological activities
Even at the most solitary level, citizens of D.D. appear to enjoy enigmatology, for example the activity of ‘Palapeli’. For this somewhat peculiar past time, enigmas are bought ready-made. They come in boxes, usually with an illustration of what the completed palapeli will look like. Inside the boxes are the palapeli pieces with uneven edges, which will only fit together with the correctly corresponding pieces to complete the overall portrait. The D.D. citizens appear to enjoy this very much and even dismantle and reconstruct the same palapeli several times over, before swapping with other palapeli enthusiasts. A variety of palapeli-related paraphernalia can be bought to enhance enjoyment, including mats and boards, some of which can double for storage and travel. Children are introduced to palapeli from a very early age, and it is an activity enjoyed across generations, right through to some of the most elderly members of society. Palapeli come in a wide range of subject matters and complexity levels, and they can be completed as a group activity, as well as in a solipsistic test of one’s own ingenuity; but the key to their popularity is invariably the enigmatological component.
By far the most prevalent of enigmatological activities are those concerning the use of small pieces of paper with individual markings on them. Citizens were observed in solitary engagement, presumably practicing for the often fierce competitions engaged in, either with groups of friends and within communities or sometimes national and international tournaments. There appear to be several different games which can be played with these marked pieces of paper, often with complex and stringent rules. Indeed, it was quite surprising to find that, even under the most restrictive of rules and conditions, citizens of D.D. seemed to very much enjoy trying to compile handfuls of paper, matching them by colour or numbers to form sequences – sometimes in running order, or else collecting all versions of a particular number or picture paper. Again, children are trained in this art of resilience-building from an early age, with versions of the sets of papers and associated games adapted for levels of comprehension. There was clearly an enhanced enjoyment derived from the element of competition level enigmatology, with individuals finding it self-affirming to pit their wits against other enigma-solvers, to see how their skills compared.
ƙɘŋhánɛð
The most esoteric form of enigmatological activities was found along the most Westerly coast of D.D, in regions where the heritage language Galesera is widely spoken. Here, enigmatology has been fused with poetry writing, to form an activity known locally as ‘cynghanedd’ (pronounced ƙɘŋhánɛð). This is essentially a poetry rubric comprising 24 different metres, each of which involves a complex combination of alliterative matching across the cesura, based around the ‘acen’ or stressed vowel(s) of words and lines. Rhyming is also important, sometimes at the ends of lines to form couplets, or indeed quadruplets, and sometimes in internal rhymes on the ‘goben’ or penult, which gives a pleasant echoing feel to a line without the harshness of a full rhyme. This echoed rhyme on the penult is known as ‘Cynghanedd Lusg’, which translates to English as the ‘Echoing Harmony’. An illustrative depiction of this is shown in the decorative ink rendering, made by one of the ethnographic researchers as a thank you gift for their host family at the end of their stay in Rannikko village on the Western peninsula:
There are many different forms of poetry which make use of cynghanedd, including the ‘Awdl’, for which there is a special ceremony at an annual event called ‘Eisteddfod Genedlaethol Cymru’, where the winning poet is awarded a large wooden chair with intricate carving and decoration in an elaborate ‘Chairing of the Bard’ ceremony. The ‘Cywydd’ is another popular form of cynghanedd and is also subject to various competitive platforms. However, the most noteworthy of this poetry-enigma phenomenon is the ‘Englyn’, which appears to be the ultimate test of the cynghanedd poet’s enigmatological skills. As a result, it commands a great deal of respect in Galesera-speaking society.
Whilst there are eight different forms of ‘Englyn’, the most prized appears to be the ‘Englyn unodl union’ (‘Direct monorhyme englyn’). This is a four-line, epigrammatic stanza, which stands alone but delivers messages powerfully and succinctly in just a few words, within the confines of a strict metre. All four lines will involve some form of cynghanedd. The first line will initially be of seven, eight, or nine syllables, with the final word of the line setting up the rhyme for the end of the remaining three lines. However, there is a sort of pause and then continuation of message within the line, without it disrupting, or indeed engaging, with the rhyme of the initial line or the rest of the poem. This second part of line one is then engaged in a sort of enjambment-cynghanedd with the words of line two, which will be six syllables (not counting the ones in the second part of line one). Line two must end in an unstressed syllable and rhyme with the first part of line one. The remaining two lines will each use a form of cynghanedd, though the last line cannot use the echoing harmony. Both lines will be 7 syllables long and one will end in a stressed syllable, whilst the other will end in an unstressed syllable. One poet was observed using self-drawn templates for this activity:
An example of this kind of englyn, written by W.D.Williams, is popularly used to say grace:
O Dad, yn deulu dedwydd – y deuwn
â diolch o newydd,
cans o’th law y daw bob dydd,
ein lluniaeth a’n llawenydd.
This englyn is in use as a standard grace in Galesera-medium schools across the West of D.D. and, curiously enough, is also used by one of the colleges at Ingelesa University, despite the fact that Galesera (the language in which it is written) is not widely spoken in the region in which the university is located.
In conclusion, it seems that the challenge of conveying a powerful, coherent message, in so short a poem, within such a strict metre, is the most tantalising and satisfying of all the enigmatology activities in the whole of D.D. Those who are successful at a competitive level are held in high regard and enjoy something of a celebrity status amongst the limited number of Galesera-speakers who understand the rules of cynghanedd and the various forms of poetry which utilize its metres. There may thus be merit in seeking ways in which to harness the essence of this hybrid enigmatology-poetic activity, to facilitate resilience-building across the galactic empire. Furthermore, in order to stabilise the current public health crisis on Lurra, cynghanedd and the other forms of enigmatology should be supported and encouraged, as a matter of public policy.
(Extract from the Encyclopaedia of Galactic Social and Cultural Anthropology, 2279)
The above fictional extract of ethnographic fieldnotes is my take on the famous satirical essay ‘Body Ritual Among the Nacirema’ by anthropologist Horace Mitchell Miner. Nacirema is American spelled backwards and Miner’s essay highlights the way in which the ethnographic gaze of the anthropologist can render even the most mundane aspects of Western culture as strange and as exotic as those of the tribal civilizations most commonly studied in this manner. My purpose in deploying this literary device here was to highlight how this same kind of gaze can render common hobbies such as jigsaw puzzles and card games equally mysterious – so much so that the ancient art of ‘cynghanedd’ would be lost amongst them, seeming no more peculiar than a game of poker, scrabble or chess, or indeed some casual sudoku or word searching.
This mischievous writing experiment was prompted by reading Mererid Hopwood’s chapter ‘Iaith Cynghanedd: ‘iaith ryfeddol yw hon’, in a forthcoming book about ‘Cynhanedd Today’. At the beginning of the chapter, Hopwood relays a personal story about hosting a session on cynghanedd, within an international poetry exchange retreat at Aberystwyth University. Having presented an outline of the metre, she was confronted, by one of the attendees, with the question:
“Why make yourselves slaves to such rules? Why bother?”
Hopwood describes having an initial sinking feeling, because maybe she had failed to adequately convey cynghanedd to the group. She was also disappointed and hurt at having something so dear to her spoken about in this manner. She describes the event as a L’esprit d’escalier’, where she was overwhelmed by the argument levelled against her, until she had left the room in which the event had taken place, and indeed the grounds of the university. However, on her way home, Hopwood had an epiphany, during which she formulated what she feels would have been the perfect response. The rest of the chapter comprises Hopwood’s assertion that cynghanedd is a language and that learning its grammar is no more restrictive than learning the grammar of any language. Whilst I found some merit in Hopwood’s thesis of cynghanedd as language, I had already been working on my own metaphor for cynghanedd, one which I would humbly assert would have been a better retort to the challenge of “Why bother?”
Puzzling cynghanedd
My initial ruminations regarding the nature of cynghanedd and appropriate metaphor were triggered when I first began taking classes via Zoom during the first lockdown of 2020. I had been reading ‘Singing in Chains’, also by Mererid Hopwood, within which she uses the metaphor of music to explain cynghanedd. Whilst I could see the parallels to a certain extent, this did not quite seem to capture the somewhat tantalizing quality conveyed by our online tutor. At one point, his description of his frustration at trying to find the right line of cynghanedd to finish his englyn seemed more akin to someone struggling with the last line of a crossword puzzle. Indeed, when I began thinking about it, there were many demonstrable parallels between cynghanedd poetry and other forms of puzzling and quizzing. As a fan of TV shows such as ‘Only connect’, I could see a similarity between ‘the missing vowels round’ and the step taken in cynghanedd to identify the pattern of stressed vowels and thus the alliterative echoing need in order to answer the appropriate consonants, for example:
Ffyrnigo /bro/ ar y bryn
o/ o/ y
Hanky/Panky/Pancakes
y/ y/ a
The above are both examples of ‘Cynghanedd sain’, or ‘Sonorous harmony’. The first is a line I wrote in cynghanedd class which translates as ‘Anger the region on the hill’ and the second is the name of a restaurant in the city of Chester near my home. This Sonorus form of cynghanedd has three bars, separated by two caesura. The last word in the first bar, rhymes with the last word in the second bar – which here, as is often the case, are the only words. To complete the line, one must make the connection between the word in the second bar, upon which the stress falls, and the corresponding word in the third bar which holds the stressed vowel. However, unlike some of the stricter forms of cynghanedd, it is only the consonant immediately before the stress in bar two which needs to find a match in bar three.
So, as you can see above, in the first example I have actually matched the b as well as the r, making a very strong sound and a pleasing feeling of echoing. In the second example, the consonants on both sides of the stressed vowel find an echo, whilst the remainder of the word in bar three is satisfyingly different. Panning back for a second, I’m sure you can see the similarity with ‘the missing vowels round’, but also the added layer of difficulty, and indeed personal creativity and ingenuity required, to ‘solve the puzzle’. Added to this, of course, is the need for the matched words to make some kind of sense, within the lines and the poem as a whole, and, for advanced players, to convey complex meanings and emotions in the manner of all good poetry traditions. To stick to this level of strict metre within the four allotted lines of an ‘englyn unodl union’ and convey something meaningful and satisfying is, in my view, some of the most exquisite puzzling in the galaxy – possibly even the universe!
Evolution, enigmatology and human nature
Obviously, problem-solving is an integral part of human nature and played an important role in our evolution as a species. Our consequent fascination with puzzles and mysteries is a reflection of this and is embedded within cultures and traditions across the world. In his book ‘The Puzzle Instinct: the meaning of puzzles in human life’, anthropologist and semiotician Marcel Danesi catalogues an impressive array of puzzles, including those relating to language, such as anagrams, riddles and crosswords. However, although Danesi discusses poetry in the context of puzzling, there is no mention of cynghanedd anywhere in the book.
I feel that this is a great shame and that it is to the detriment of Danesi’s thesis. However, it isn’t really that surprising, since cynghanedd has, until now, been utilised almost exclusively in the Welsh language. In fact, in her book ‘Singing in Chains’, Hopwood argues that cynghanedd is inextricably linked to the Welsh language and associated culture, and thus does not easily lend itself for performance in any other language. I found this to be a curious argument, particularly given that, on the other hand, in chapter 6 she shares an englyn written by Myrddin ap Dafydd and Twm Morys, which shows evidence of translanguaging within the same poem. However, this may go some way to explaining why Hopwood found herself confronted with the question of “Why bother?” and, by the same token, explain the absence of cynghanedd from Danesi’s book on puzzles.
The enigmatic art of cynghanedd has yet to be successfully translanguaged and presented in other languages, thus the potential global appeal of this most elegant of puzzles is, as yet, unrealised. The complexity of the enigma, which makes it so tantalising, is also the reason it is so difficult to explain. However, I would encourage you to consider the response you might get from an alien being from another planet, such as Mork from the Mork and Mindy TV show, if you tried to explain other puzzles, such as crosswords, poker, sudoku or chess, and why humans spend so much time engaged in solving them. Might they also be left wondering “why bother?”
A tri-dimensional chess version of cynghanedd
I am currently engaged in studying and learning cynghanedd and am really at the beginning of my journey, having attended one term of classes and read some of the relevant texts. However, I have already hit a rather large bump in the road. Cynghanedd is heavily dependent on the ability to hear the stress in order to identify the vowel and the surrounding consonants to be answered on the other side of the cesura. This came as somewhat of a blow to me because I have Waardenburg Syndrome Type 1, with associated sensorineural hearing loss, which currently appears to be progressing. Indeed, if my hearing progresses along the same path as my father’s has, I am likely to lose a considerable degree of my functional hearing. However, I am a poet and a puzzler. First, I wrote a poem about it, translated it, and published it in a bilingual pamphlet with some of my artwork, free for download: ‘Y ras i gynganeddu/ the race to cynganeddu’. Second, I have picked up the Rubik’s cube of cynghanedd and am attempting to find a workaround which will enable me to connect the colours on at least one side, without resorting to peeling off the stickers. I am looking at ways to make the work which would usually be auditory, possible in a visual manner.
One way to do this would be to produce an amended version of ‘Yr Odliadur’, the rhyming dictionary – a staple within any cynghanedd poet’s toolkit. This could be amended to include accents above the stressed vowels in all of the words. Another addition, or edition of Yr Odliadur, could print all of the words using the International Phonetics Alphabet (IPA), thus rendering all aspects of a word’s pronunciation visible. Incorporation of Y Cleciadur, currently a separate book, would further enhance utility, as would the reinsertion of one line of explanation of each word, as was present in the original Odliadur, published in the Nineteenth century. I am therefore currently engaged in a most deliciously complex and multi-modal puzzle – but “why bother?” you may ask.
It seems to me that some of the greatest innovations of all time have emerged from the need to problem solve in the face of adversity. As a musician, Beethoven’s progressive hearing loss led him to write music in a different way, resulting in a musical style which others found compelling. One of my favourite pieces of his is ‘Moonlight sonata’, which is a particularly visceral piece of music. This is a familiar trope in numerous science-fiction series, including the memorable episode of Star Trek Next Generation ‘Masterpiece Society’. So whilst I may face additional hurdles in my quest to be a cynghanedd poet, perhaps this may lead me down a path of contributing some creative output which is truly unique and spectacular.
Finally, for the Nacirema-style ethnographic fieldnotes, I used the name of an island from an old science-fiction story I wrote for the ‘Emyr Feddyg’ scholarship in the National Eisteddfod of Wales a few years ago. Heavily influenced by A Clockwork Orange, I used two languages other than Welsh in order to bring a thinly veiled opacity to the geographical region in question. It was my original intention to provide the languages and words at the end of the extract, once I had made my point about the ethnographic gaze. However, on reflection I have decided to leave them for you, my dear readers, as one last little puzzle for you to solve – you’re welcome!
Sara Louise Wheeler writes the column ‘Synfyfyrion llenyddol’ (literary musings) for Y Clawdd community newspaper in her hometown of Wrecsam. Her poetry, belles lettres and artwork have been published by Unique Poetry, Dark Poets Club, 3am Magazine, Barddas, Y Stamp, Gŵyl y ferch Anthology 2020, Meddwl.org, Qualitative Inquiry, and the Centre for Imaginative Ethnography. Sara is currently conducting an introspective project, exploring her embodied experiences of Waardenburg Syndrome Type 1 through a variety of creative and scholarly mediums; this includes an exploration of cynghanedd and sign language poetry. Sara is a Visiting Research Fellow at Glyndŵr University and lives in Ness, on the Wirral peninsula, with her husband Peter and their pet tortoise, Kahless. You can find her on Twitter, Medium and Instagram.
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