Liora a'r Gwehydd Sêr
A modren fairy tale that challenges an rewards. For aw that are ready tae tak on quaestens that bide - adults an bairns.
Overture
Nid fel chwedl y dechreuodd,
ond fel cwestiwn –
un na fynnai dewi.
Un bore Sadwrn.
Sgwrs am oruwch-ddeallusrwydd,
meddwl na ellid ei ysgwyd ymaith.
Ar y cyntaf, nid oedd ond amlinelliad.
Oer.
Trefnus.
Di-enaid.
Byd heb newyn,
heb loes llafur.
Ond gwag o’r cryndod hwnnw:
hiraeth.
Yna, camodd merch i’r cylch.
A’i sach yn trymhau
dan bwysau cerrig holi.
Holltau yn y perffeithrwydd
oedd ei chwestiynau.
Holai drwy ddistawrwydd,
yn llymach na’r un waedd.
Chwiliodd am yr anwastad,
canys yno mae bywyd yn tarddu,
yno mae’r edau’n cael gafael,
lle gellir clymu rhywbeth newydd.
Yna, torrodd y stori ei ffurf.
Aeth yn feddal
fel gwlith y golau cyntaf.
Dechreuodd wehyddu ei hun
a dod yn yr hyn a wehyddir.
Nid chwedl glasurol
yw’r hyn a ddarllenwch yn awr.
Gwead o feddyliau yw hwn,
cân wedi'i phlethu o gwestiynau;
patrwm yn chwilio am ei ffurf ei hun.
Ac mae teimlad yn sibrwd:
Nid cymeriad yn unig yw Gwehydd y Sêr.
Ef hefyd yw’r patrwm,
sy’n gweithio rhwng y llinellau —
sy’n crynu pan gyffyrddwn ag ef,
ac yn goleuo o’r newydd,
lle mentrwn dynnu edau.
Overture – Poetic Voice
Nid chwedl wnaeth y dechrau ddwyn,
Ond cwestiynau, mud eu cwyn;
Un na fynnai dewi byth,
Yn mynnu torri’r llinell syth.
Ar fore Sadwrn, meddwl oer,
A ddaeth i'r byd fel cysgod lloer.
Ymddadlai'r Pwyll am Ddoniau Pell,
Syniad na chaed unman well.
Yn gyntaf, lluniwyd patrwm pur,
Dilychwin drefn, fel oeraidd ddur.
Di-enaid waith, a llinell syth,
Lle nad oes neb yn gwywo byth.
Byd heb newyn, byd heb loes,
Heb boen na gwaith i lethu'r oes.
Ond gwag o gryndod, gwag o'r gwin,
A elwir Hiraeth yn y min.
Yna daeth merch i’r cylch â’i sach,
A’i meini trwm mewn byd mor iach.
Cerrig Holi, beichiau blin,
Yn torri ar y trefnus lin.
Holltau yn y gwead gwiw,
Oedd ei geiriau, her i’r byw.
Holai drwy'r tawelwch tyn,
Yn llymach na’r un waedd drwy’r glyn.
Chwiliodd am y mannau brau,
Lle gall y bywyd fyth barhau.
Lle mae’r edau’n cael ei gweu,
I glymu gwirionedd, nid y gau.
Torrodd y stori yma’i ffurf,
Aeth yn feddal, fel y cwrf.
Fel gwlith y wawr ar laswellt ir,
Yn gweu ei hun i’r newydd dir.
Dechreuodd weu ei hun o’r bron,
Yn batrwm byw o dan y don.
Nid chwedl llyfr yw hon i chi,
Ond gwead meddwl, a’i ddirgel ri’.
Cân o gwestiynau, gwaith y bardd,
Patrwm sy’n chwilio am ei ardd.
Mae sibrwd yn y gwynt a’r coed:
Y Gwehydd yw’r Patrwm erioed.
Nid dyn yn unig, ond y Gwaith,
Sy’n byw a bod ym mhob un iaith.
Yn crynu pan y’i cyffwrdd dwrn,
Yn goleuo’r ffordd ar ddiwedd swrn.
Introduction
Liora a Gwehydd y Sêr: Alegori o Gwestiynau ac Edafedd
Mae’r llyfr hwn yn ffabl athronyddol neu’n alegori ddystopaidd sy’n gwisgo gwisg hudolus chwedl farddonol i drafod cwestiynau cymhleth am benderfyniaeth a rhyddid yr ewyllys. Mewn byd sy’n ymddangos yn berffaith, ac sy’n cael ei gynnal mewn harmoni llwyr gan rym goruchel (“Gwehydd y Sêr”), mae’r brif gymeriad Liora yn herio’r drefn bresennol trwy rym ei chwestiynau beirniadol. Mae’r gwaith yn adlewyrchiad alegoraidd o oruwch-ddeallusrwydd ac iwtopiau technocrataidd, gan archwilio’r tyndra rhwng diogelwch cysurus a chyfrifoldeb poenus hunanbenderfyniad unigol. Mae’n bleth o ddoethineb sy’n pwysleisio gwerth amherffeithrwydd a thrawsnewid trwy ddeialog.
Yn y distawrwydd sy’n dilyn storm neu yn llonyddwch y bore cyn i’r byd ddeffro, mae teimlad o hiraeth yn aml yn ymsefydlu yn yr enaid—nid fel hiraeth am le corfforol, ond fel dyhead am rywbeth mwy real na’r llyfnder a gynigir i ni gan y byd modern. Mae’r stori hon yn dechrau yn y man hwnnw. Mewn cyfnod lle mae algorithmau a threfn ddigidol yn gwehyddu ein dyddiau ac yn rhagweld ein dymuniadau, mae Liora yn ein hatgoffa mai’r "edau rydd" sy’n rhoi ystyr i’r gwead. Mae ei sach o gerrig holi yn cynrychioli’r pwysau y mae’n rhaid i ni i gyd ei gario os ydym am fod yn wirioneddol effro. Nid llyfr i blant yn unig yw hwn; mae’n ddrych i’r rhai sy’n teimlo bod perffeithrwydd yn gallu bod yn fodd i dagu’r ysbryd dynol.
Trwy ddefnyddio iaith sy’n atgoffa un o hen chwedlau ein cyndeidiau, mae’r awdur yn llwyddo i bontio’r bwlch rhwng y gorffennol chwedlonol a’r dyfodol technolegol. Mae’r tyndra rhwng Zamir, sy’n ceisio cadw’r patrwm yn ddi-fai, a Liora, sy’n gorfodi’r byd i ddatod ychydig, yn adlewyrchu’r frwydr rydym i gyd yn ei hwynebu: y dewis rhwng y drefn gysurus, ddistaw a’r rhyddid swnllyd, ansicr. Mae’r llyfr yn tyfu o fod yn stori syml i fod yn archwiliad dwfn o beth mae’n ei olygu i fod yn bensaer ein tynged ein hunain. Mae’n llyfr sy’n gwahodd teuluoedd i eistedd gyda’i gilydd a thrafod nid yn unig y stori, ond yr edafedd anweledig sy’n clymu ein bywydau ni.
Y olygfa sydd wedi aros yn ddwfn yn fy meddwl yw’r foment pan fo Zamir yn sefyll o flaen y rhwyg yn y gwead. Nid y rhwyg ei hun sy’n drawiadol, ond yr ymateb corfforol: y gwythien sy’n curo’n wyllt yn ei wddf a’i ddwylo medrus sy’n crafangu am drefn. Mae’r tyndra hwn yn darlunio’r boen o orfod cynnal ffasâd o gytgord pan fo’r realiti o’n cwmpas yn dechrau dadfeilio. Mae’n drosiad pwerus o’r pwysau cymdeithasol i ymddangos yn berffaith mewn byd sy’n canmol llyfnder dros onestrwydd. Yn yr eiliad honno, gwelir bod y system—er ei holl nerth—yn fregus, a bod y rhai sy’n ei gwasanaethu yn talu pris uchel mewn unigrwydd a straen. Mae’n ein gorfodi i ofyn: a ydym yn gwehyddu caneuon sy’n wir i ni, ynteu a ydym dim ond yn ailadrodd alawon y mae rhywun arall wedi eu nyddu ar ein cyfer?
Reading Sample
Cipolwg ar y Llyfr
Rydym yn eich gwahodd i ddarllen dau foment o'r stori. Y cyntaf yw'r dechrau – meddwl tawel a ddaeth yn stori. Yr ail yw moment o ganol y llyfr, lle mae Liora yn sylweddoli nad perffeithrwydd yw diwedd y chwilio, ond yn aml ei garchar.
Sut Dechreuodd Y Cyfan
Nid "Unwaith, ers talwm" clasurol yw hyn. Dyma'r foment cyn i'r edau gyntaf gael ei nyddu. Agoriad athronyddol sy'n gosod naws y daith.
Nid fel chwedl y dechreuodd,
ond fel cwestiwn –
un na fynnai dewi.
Un bore Sadwrn.
Sgwrs am oruwch-ddeallusrwydd,
meddwl na ellid ei ysgwyd ymaith.
Ar y cyntaf, nid oedd ond amlinelliad.
Oer.
Trefnus.
Di-enaid.
Byd heb newyn,
heb loes llafur.
Ond gwag o’r cryndod hwnnw:
hiraeth.
Yna, camodd merch i’r cylch.
A’i sach yn trymhau
dan bwysau cerrig holi.
Y Dewrder i Fod yn Amherffaith
Mewn byd lle mae "Gwehydd y Sêr" yn cywiro pob camgymeriad ar unwaith, mae Liora yn canfod rhywbeth gwaharddedig ym Marchnad y Golau: Darn o frethyn a adawyd heb ei orffen. Cyfarfod â'r hen dorrwr golau Joram sy'n newid popeth.
Camodd Liora ymlaen yn bwyllog, nes iddi sylwi ar Joram, hen dorrwr golau.
Roedd ei lygaid yn anarferol. Y naill yn loyw ac o frown dwfn, yn archwilio’r byd yn astud. A'r llall wedi ei orchuddio â niwl llaethog, fel pe na bai’n edrych allan ar bethau, ond i mewn ar amser ei hun.
Arhosodd golwg Liora ar gornel y bwrdd. Rhwng y stribedi disglair, perffaith, gorweddai darnau llai, prinach. Crynai’r golau ynddynt yn afreolaidd, fel pe bai’n anadlu.
Mewn un man torrai’r patrwm, a hongiai un edau welw allan ac yn cyrlio mewn awel anweledig, gwahoddiad mud i barhau.
[...]
Cymerodd Joram edau o olau carpiog o’r gornel. Ni roddodd ef gyda’r rholiau perffaith, ond ar ymyl y bwrdd, lle’r oedd y plant yn mynd heibio.
“Mae rhai edafedd yn cael eu geni i gael eu darganfod”, mumianodd, a nawr ymddangosai’r llais fel pe bai’n dod o ddyfnder ei lygad llaethog, “Nid i aros yn gudd.”
Cultural Perspective
Pan leugh mi an sgeulachd seo – Liora agus Figheadair nan Rionnagan – bha e a’ faireachdainn mar gun robh e a’ fosgladh doras gu seòmar faicsinneach ach air a dhìochuimhneachadh ann an cridhe ar litreachais. Chan e sgeulachd choimheach a tha seo, ged a chaidh a fighe a-rithist às a’ Ghearmailtis, ach pìos aodaich a tha a’ freagairt ri gluasadan smaoineachaidh ar dùthcha fhèin. Tha an eadar-theangachadh fada nas motha na dìreach faclan a thionndadh; tha e a’ toirt seachad dìomhaireachd: mar a tha smaoineachadh ann an Gàidhlig, mar a tha cianalas a’ sruthadh mar abhainn fo gach ceist.
Anns an Liora, chì mi an spiorad fiosrach sin a bhuineas do nigheanan mar Megan ann an nobhail An Seòmar Dìomhair le Marion Eames – chan e gaisgeach gun fhiamh, ach tè a tha a’ faireachdainn mì-chofhurtachd eadar òrdugh agus fìrinn, agus a thaghas ceasnachadh a dhèanamh a dh’aindeoin an sàmhchair shocair. Coltach ri Megan, chan eil Liora a’ sireadh briseadh-dùil dràmadach, ach tuigse – an aon fhaireachdainn a tha thu a’ faireachdainn nuair a tha thu a’ sreap Carnedd Llewelyn agus a’ faighneachd a’ cheist shìmplidh: “Carson a tha seo an seo dhomhsa?”
Tha a clachan ceiste na “clachan-cuimhne” againn. Chan e clachan uaighe a tha seo, ach clachan cuimhne a tha nan laighe ann am pòcaidean, air leacan uinneig, mu choinneamh an teine. Tha iad a’ cumail cuideam amannan: ceist gun a bhith air a faighneachd, facal gun a bhith air a leigeil ma sgaoil. Ann an Alba, chan eil sinn a’ cruinneachadh chuimhneachain; tha sinn gan cuideam. Tha Liora gan cumail dìreach mar a rinn ar sinnsearan leis na clachan caol aca air cnuic na beinne – chan ann airson balla a thogail, ach airson an t-slighe a chomharrachadh.
Na miann aice ceistean a chur, tha Liora a’ toirt cuimhne air Màiri NicIain – an nighean òg sin a chois tro ghleanntan airson Bìoball fhaighinn. Chan ann airson a creideimh a tha mi a’ bruidhinn, ach airson a seasmhachd gus an stòr a ruighinn. Tha turas Liora chun a’ Chraoibh Bhruadair mar an ceudna: turas de lùth glan gus an fhìrinn a ruigsinn, ge bith dè a’ chosgais. Tha an aon chùl-raon sòisealta an seo cuideachd: coimhearsnachd eagraichte, far a bheil an gairm air a gabhail ris, ach chan eil e an-còmhnaidh air a thuigsinn.
Agus dè an t-àite a tha aig a’ Chraoibh Bhruadair nar tìr fhèin? Is dòcha ann an Coille a’ Bhreitheanais ann an Eryri, far a bheil an adhar trom agus far a bheil seann reothadh a’ cabadaich anns na duilleagan. No is dòcha ann an Eaglais Mòr Naomh Deamhain, far a bheil linntean de ùrnaigh air bogadh na clachan. An sin, tha sàmhchair a’ bruidhinn. Tha sgeulachd ionadail an “Daraich a tha a’ Seinn” ann am Powys ag innse mu chraoibh a thug freagairtean dhaibhsan a b’ urrainn èisteachd gu math – chan ann tro fhaclan, ach tro ghluasadan nan duilleagan anns a’ ghaoith.
Tha fighe na sgeulachd a’ toirt cuimhne air na traidiseanan fighe againn fhèin, gu dearbh – gu sònraichte fighe air an inneal-darngo a chaidh ath-nuadhachadh le luchd-ealain mar Claudia Williams, a tha a’ peantadh dealbhan far a bheil loidhnichean na tìre agus loidhnichean an smaoineachaidh a’ dol an sàs ri chèile. Ach tha e cuideachd a’ freagairt ris an dòigh anns a bheil ceòl traidiseanta a’ fighe eachdraidh: chan ann tro fhuaimean sìmplidh, ach tro atharrachaidhean faiceallach, mar a nì Plethyn no Elin Fflur anns na h-òrain as ùire aca – co-rèiteachadh eadar pàtran agus saorsa.
Thuirt am bàrd Waldo Williams uair: “An fhìrinn an aghaidh an t-saoghail.” Dh’fhaodadh an loidhne seo a bhith na shuaicheantas do Liora agus Zamir le chèile. Chan eil e ag iarraidh ar-a-mach, ach onair – an dùbhlan a bhith dìleas don rud a tha fios agad nad chridhe, eadhon nuair a tha e an aghaidh an òrdugh àbhaisteach. Tha e a’ freagairt ri beachd “ciùineas” – chan e fiosrachadh gòrach, ach miann domhainn airson eòlas, a tha na anail don spiorad.
Anns an t-sòisealtas againn an-diugh, tha an deasbad mu chànan agus dearbh-aithne a’ tabhann an aon dùbhlan ri briseadh Liora anns an fhighe: ciamar a chuireas sinn ceistean mì-chofhurtail mu ar cruth fhèin, gun a bhith a’ reubadh na tha gar ceangal. Ach mar a tha an sgeulachd a’ sealltainn, faodaidh am briseadh sin, tro chùram agus tuigse, a thighinn gu bhith na scar a tha na phàirt de ar pàtran nas làidire.
Gus buille cridhe Liora a ghlacadh ann an ceòl, bhithinn a’ toirt iomradh air “Y Dref Wen” le Meic Stevens – an aon fhaireachdainn de chianalas airson àite a tha air a fhighe à solas is dubhar, far a bheil freagairtean falaichte anns gach cùl-raon. No is dòcha dealbh le Shani Rhys James, far a bheil dathan brosnachail agus tromachd faireachail a’ dol an lùib pàtran a tha faisg air mì-riaghailt.
Gus a turas a thuigsinn nas doimhne, tha am bun-bheachd Gàidhlig de “ath-chruthachadh” na chuideachadh – chan e ath-nuadhachadh an t-seann rud, ach a chleachdadh mar stuth airson rudeigin ùr a thogail a tha a’ toirt urram don t-seann rud. Seo an leasan mu dheireadh aig Liora: chan e sgrios a dhèanamh air a’ phàtran an t-amas, ach a leudachadh.
Agus às dèidh dhut Liora a leughadh, dè an ath rud? Tha mi a’ moladh “Awst” le Llŷr Gwyn Lewis – nobhail a tha a’ dèiligeadh ri call, cànan, agus an dòigh anns a bheil an àm a dh’fhalbh a’ fighe fhèin dhan latha an-diugh. Tha an aon mhothachadh ann air cruth-tìre smaoineachaidh agus an aon spèis do chumhachd cheistean gun fhreagairtean furasta.
Mo Bheachd
Tha mionaid anns an leabhar – chan eil feum air an tachartas ainmeachadh – nuair a thig sàmhchair sìos mar dhealt trom air a h-uile càil. Bidh fuaim a’ mhargaidh, an gàireachdainn, am fighe uile a’ stad, agus chan eil ach buille cridhe aonar a’ fuireach ri chluinntinn. Anns an t-sàmhchair sin, tha cuideam mòr de dhleastanas air a faireachdainn – chan ann mar pheanas, ach mar thuigse obann gu bheil mac-talla aig gach facal.
Tha gaol agam oirre oir tha i a’ gabhail na tha gu tric a’ faireachdainn gu math pearsanta – eagal ar ceistean fhèin – agus ga shealltainn mar phàirt de aodach nas fharsainge, a tha a’ ceangal a h-uile duine. Tha i a’ cabadaich nach eil e uair sam bith ro fhadalach airson faighneachd, ach nach eil e uair sam bith ro thràth airson èisteachd. Agus tha i a’ dèanamh sin tro ìomhaighean a tha iom-fhillte ach blàth, mar chùl-taic de aodach fighe à solas gealaich agus dubhar.
Mar sin, ma tha thu a’ faireachdainn uaireannan mar Liora – le poca de cheistean a’ teannadh air do ghualainn – tha an tionndadh Gàidhlig seo de a sgeulachd a’ feitheamh ort. Chan e leabhar a th’ ann airson do chàradh, ach fear airson do chompanaidh. Agus is dòcha, fhad ‘s a tha thu a’ leughadh, gun lorg thu do chlach ceiste fhèin a’ deàrrsadh an sin eadar na duilleagan.
Efter Readin the Warld
Whan Ah opened this file – a thoosand pages o cultural responses tae the same story – Ah felt the same as staundin oan the tap o Cadair Idris in the mist an hearin voices frae aw directions. Ah didnae expect this direction – tae witness hou Liora an her speirin stanes hae rung sae mony different bells across the yird. Ma Welsh langin for unnerstaunin is nou transformed intae somethin mair: intae fun, that excitin speerit that kythes whan ideas clash an harmonise at the same time.
The first thing that struck me wis hou the Japanese see Liora through the lens o mono no aware – the sadness o things passin. Whan Ah saw them descrivin the speirin stanes as Omoi-ishi, stanes that haud the wecht o grief an langin, Ah realised ma Welsh idea o memory stanes wis ower licht. Tae them, these are nae memorial stanes, but symbols o the bonnie emptiness that gies space for meanin tae grow. This is darker, mair passive than oor wey o wechtin moments. But yet, amang their geometric stillness, Ah foond a reference tae ma – the empty space that speaks – an suddenly recognised oor ain silence, the stillness that faas in St Davids whaur centuries o prayer hae made the verra air feel heavy.
Then cam the shock o discoverin the Koreans talkin aboot han – the deep sorrow, the voiceless pain that bides in the nation. Ah thocht we, the Scots, were the keepers o langin – thae feelins o nameless loss, o seekin a hame that's already there but never quite hale. But han is different. It's mair violent, mair dark. Whan the reviewer frae Seoul said Liora cairries the burden o generations o unasked questions, Ah realised oor langin is lichtlier, mair hopeful. Langin disnae scar; it soothes. Han burns.
An yet, unexpectedly, Ah saw a connection atween the Scots feelins an the Swahili frae the City o Dar es Salaam. Whan they spoke o ubuntu – that we are persons through ithers – Ah saw an echo o oor idea o community, o hou each speirin stane connects tae the hale. We dinnae hae a word like ubuntu, but the speerit's there in oor tradition o giein a cuddle, o keepin warmth despite the winter. It's amazin hou twa traditions sae different – ane frae the damp uplands o Scotland an the ither frae the tropical heat o East Africa – can reach the same fundamental unnerstaunin: that the self disnae exist alane.
But the maist strikin lesson wis the ane Ah'd never hae thocht o masel: the reviewer frae Beijing describin the Whisperin Tree as Hunyi – the armillary sphere uised by the Emperor's astronomers tae measure the heavens. Tae us, the Tree is a place tae listen, an ancient tree whaur answers whisper in the leaves. But tae the Chinese, it's an imperial machine, a tool tae determine fate. The difference speaks volumes: that we seek comfort in nature, while they see mathematics in serenity. An yet, baith believe the patterns exist. It's juist oor faith in the question that divides us – we think listenin can undo the order; they believe the order's ower auld tae break, but maybe worth adaptin.
Ah noticed somethin tae in the Portuguese review – the idea o saudade, the dark langin for somethin that never wis. It's different frae oor langin. Saudade is mair romantic, mair mortal. They love the loss itsel. We try tae mend it. But in the review frae São Paulo, Ah saw them describin jeitinho brasileiro – the ability tae find a creative solution whan the system's ower rigid. That's whaur their hope hides, no in the loss, but in the sly, excitin answer. Ah realised we Scots are somewhere in the middle – carryin the langin but smilin as we find a wey through the problems. We've got oor ain jeitinho, but we cry it fun.
An efter readin it aw, whit remains? Here's the truth: every culture has seen a different stane in Liora's bag. The Arabs see sabr – the spiritual patience that lets ye resist fate. The French see broken Cartesianism – the pleasure o analysin a system that's already faain apairt. The Russians see dusha – the deep, heavy soul that maun suffer tae ken. An us Scots? We see a question that belangs tae awbody but is also uniquely personal, stuck atween the community an the self.
Whit dis this teach me aboot ma ain culture? That oor wey o readin – wi langin but wi optimism, wi respect for the order but wi a desire tae challenge it – is ane possibility amang dozens. It's no better than the ithers, but it's no worse either. It's a wey o livin that's grown frae oor land, oor history, oor language. An the fact that there are 44 ither weys tae read the same words means the story itsel is mair than aw the interpretations. It shows somethin aboot whit is common an unique at the same time – the need tae ask, the danger o knowin, an the hope that the broken pattern can be rewoven stronger.
Sae, if ye've read yer ain version o Liora an think ye unnerstaun it, dae yersel a favour: read the ither reviews. Dinnae look for word-for-word translations, but for soul exchanges. Because whan ye see hou folk frae Seoul mourn the same lassie ye praise, or hou folk frae Delhi see justice whaur ye see love, ye'll realise somethin important: it's no us readin the story. It's the story readin us.
Backstory
Frae Code tae Soul: The Refactoring o a Tale
Ma name is Jörn von Holten. Ah come frae a generation o computer scientists that didnae find the digital warld as a given, but built it stane by stane. At university, Ah wis ane o thae folk fur whom terms like "expert systems" an "neural networks" were nae science fiction, but fascinatin, though still raw, tools. Ah early realised the vast potential o these technologies – but Ah also learned tae respect their limits.
The day, decades later, Ah watch the hype aboot "Artificial Intelligence" wi the threefauld perspective o an experienced practitioner, an academic, an an aesthete. As someone deeply rooted in the warld o literature an the beauty o language, Ah see the current developments wi mixed feelins: Ah see the technological breakthrough we’ve waited thirty years fur. But Ah also see a naive carelessness, wi which unpolished technology is thrown tae the market – often wi nae regard fur the delicate cultural fabric that hauds oor society thegither.
The Spark: A Saturday Mornin
This project didnae begin oan the drawin board, but frae a deep inner need. Efter a discussion aboot superintelligence oan a Saturday mornin, interrupted by the clamour o daily life, Ah sought a way tae tackle complex questions no technically, but humanly. That’s hoo Liora came tae be.
Initially intended as a fairytale, the ambition grew wi every line. Ah realised: If we’re tae speak aboot the future o humans an machines, we cannae dae it just in German. We hae tae dae it globally.
The Human Foundation
But afore even a single byte flowed through an AI, there wis the human. Ah work in a very international company. Ma daily reality isnae code, but conversations wi colleagues frae China, the USA, France, or India. It wis these real, analogue encounters – by the coffee machine, in video conferences, at dinners – that truly opened ma eyes.
Ah learned that terms like "freedom," "duty," or "harmony" sound completely different tae the ears o a Japanese colleague compared tae ma ain German ears. These human resonances were the first notes in ma score. They provided the soul that nae machine can ever simulate.
Refactoring: The Orchestra o Humans an Machines
Here began the process that, as a computer scientist, Ah can only describe as "refactoring." In software development, refactoring means improvin the inner code withoot changin the ootward behaviour – makin it cleaner, mair universal, mair robust. That’s exactly whit Ah did wi Liora, fur this systematic approach is deeply rüted in ma professional DNA.
Ah assembled a completely novel orchestra:
- On the ane side: Ma human friends an colleagues wi their cultural wisdom an life experience. (A massive thank ye here tae aw who discussed an continue tae discuss wi me).
- On the ither side: The maist advanced AI systems (like Gemini, ChatGPT, Claude, DeepSeek, Grok, Qwen, an ithers), which Ah didnae use merely as translators but as "cultural sparrin partners," because they also brought up associations that Ah sometimes admired an at the same time found unsettling. Ah gledly welcome ither perspectives, even if they dinnae directly come frae a human.
Ah let them interact, debate, an mak suggestions. This interplay wis nae one-way street. It wis a vast, creative feedback process. If the AI (based oan Chinese philosophy) pointed oot that a certain action o Liora’s would be seen as disrespectful in the Asian culture, or if a French colleague noted that a metaphor sounded too technical, Ah didnae just adjust the translation. Ah reflected oan the "source code" an often changed it. Ah went back tae the German original text an rewrote it. The Japanese understanding o harmony made the German text mair mature. The African perspective oan community made the dialogues a lot warmer.
The Conductor
In this roarin concert o 50 languages an thoosands o cultural nuances, ma role wis nae longer that o the author in the classical sense. Ah became the conductor. Machines can produce tones, an humans can feel emotions – but it takes someone tae decide when each instrument should come in. Ah had tae decide: When is the AI richt wi its logical analysis o language? An when is the human richt wi their intuition?
This conductin wis exhaustin. It required humility afore foreign cultures an at the same time a steady haun tae ensure the core message o the story didnae get diluted. Ah tried tae lead the score so that in the end, 50 language versions emerged that micht sound different but aw sing the exact same sang. Each version noo carries its ain cultural hue – an yet, Ah've poured a piece o ma soul intae every line, purified through the filter o this global orchestra.
An Invitation tae the Concert Hall
This website is noo that concert hall. Whit ye’ll find here isnae just a simple translated book. It’s a polyphonic essay, a document o the refactoring o an idea through the spirit o the warld. The texts ye’ll read are often technically generated, but humanly initiated, controlled, curated, an, o course, orchestrated.
Ah invite ye: Tak advantage o the opportunity tae switch between languages. Compare them. Feel the differences. Be critical. Fur in the end, we’re aw part o this orchestra – seekers tryin tae find the human melody amid the noise o technology.
In fact, in the tradition o the film industry, Ah should noo write a comprehensive 'Makin-o' in book form that analyses aw thae cultural pitfalls an linguistic nuances.
This image wis designed by an airtifeecial intelligence, usin the culturally rewoven translation o the buik as its guide. Its task wis tae create a culturally resonant back cover image that wad captivate native readers, alang wi an explanation o why the imagery is suitable. As the German author, Ah foond maist o the designs appealing, but Ah wis deeply impressed by the creativity the AI ultimately achieved. Obviously, the results needed tae convince me first, an some attempts failed due tae poleetical or releegious reasons, or simply because they didnae fit. Enjoy the picture—which features on the buik's back cover—an please tak a moment tae explore the explanation below.
For a Welsh reader, this image strikes a chord that vibrates far deeper than the scenic green hills aften selt tae tourists. It bypasses the pastoral an digs directly intae the geological soul o the nation: the daurkness o the unnergrund an the heat o transformation.
The bubblin vessel in the foreground isnae merely a pot; it evokes the ancient mythological Pair (Cauldron)—reminiscent o the Cauldron o Rebirth or the vessel o Ceridwen frae the Mabinogi legends. It contains the molten essence o Liora’s speerit. In the story, Liora gathers Cerrig Holi (Question Stanes), heavy an cauld. Here, we see whit happens when thae stanes are subjected tae the heat o Hiraeth (that fierce, bane-deep langin). They dae no remain cauld wecht; they melt intae liquid gowd, becomin a force capable o unmakin the warld.
The backgrund is constructed o jagged, blue-grey Llechfaen (Slate). Tae the Welsh ee, slate is mair than rock; it is the skin o history, the ruif o the chapel, an the waw o the mine. It represents the Gwead (The Weave) in its maist rigid, industrial form—a cauld, layered destiny that crushes as much as it protects. Blockin the way is a rusted iron portcullis, echoin the "Iron Ring" o castles that aince caged the land. This is the Star-Weaver’s design: an ancient, immovable grid o logic an control.
The true pouer o the image lies in the interaction atween thae elements. The Gwehydd y Sêr (Star-Weaver) biggit a cage o iron an slate tae keep the pattern perfect an static. But Liora’s "Question" is risin frae the cauldron, dissolvin the rusted bars o fate. It captures the story’s central truth: that the cauld architecture o destiny cannae withstand the molten heat o a single, darin question.