#WelshWriters
All my life I was face to face with her, at meal—times, by the fire, even in the ultimate intimacies
We met under a shower of bird-notes. Fifty years passed, love’s moment
And God held in his hand A small globe. Look he said. The son looked. Far off, As through water, he saw A scorched land of fierce
Shelley dreamed it. Now the dream… The props crumble; the familiar wa… Are stale with tears trodden under… The heart’s flower withers at the… Bury it then, in history’s sterile…
When he came in, she was there. When she looked at him, he smiled. There were lights in time’s wave breaking on an eternal shore.
‘Poems from prison! About what?’ ‘Life and God.’ ‘God in prison? Friend, you trifle with me. His face, perhaps,
We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.
Iago Prytherch his name, though,… Just an ordinary man of the bald… Who pens a few sheep in a gap of c… Docking mangels, chipping the gree… From the yellow bones with a half-…
You go up the long track That will take a car, but is best… On slow foot, noting the lichen That writes history on the page Of the grey rock. Trees are about…
It seems wrong that out of this bi… Black, bold, a suggestion of dark Places about it, there yet should… Such rich music, as though the not… Ore were changed to a rare metal
It is this great absence that is like a presence, that comp… me to address it without hope of a reply. It is a room I enter from which someone has just
Like a painting it is set before o… But less brittle, ageless; these c… Are renewed daily with variations Of light and distance that no pain… Achieves or suggests. Then there…
I am the farmer, stripped of love And thought and grace by the land’… But what I am saying over the fie… Desolate acres, rough with dew, Is, Listen, listen, I am a man li…
Looking upon this tree with its qu… Of holding the earth, a leveret, i… Or marking the texture of its livi… A grey sea wrinkled by the winds o… I understand whence this man’s bod…
To live in Wales is to be conscio… At dusk of the spilled blood That went into the making of the w… Dyeing the immaculate rivers In all their courses.
