#WelshWriters
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
Dear parents, I forgive you my life, Begotten in a drab town, The intention was good; Passing the street now,
So beautiful—God himself quailed at her approach: the long body cur… like the horizon. Why had he made her so? How would it be, she said, leaning towards him, if instead of
They see you as they see you, A poor farmer with no name, Ploughing cloudward, sowing the wi… With squalls of gulls at the day’s… To me you are Prytherch, the man
Davies thought life was long; there was a sameness in the song. Pugh thought it all too brief, the fruit ripe before the leaf turned. How is it with you
Nineteen years now Under the same roof Eating our bread, Using the same air: Sighing, if one sighs,
The poem in the rock and The poem in the mind Are not one. It was in dying I tried to make them so.
I was vicar of large things in a small parish. Small-minded I will not say, there were depths in some of them I shrank back from, wells that the word “God”
I emerge from the mind’s cave into the worse darkness outside, where things pass and the Lord is in none of them. I have heard the still, small voic…
‘Poems from prison! About what?’ ‘Life and God.’ ‘God in prison? Friend, you trifle with me. His face, perhaps,
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the b… I am like a tree, From my top boughs I can see
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…
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
It is calm. It is as though we lived in a garden that had not yet arrived at the knowledge of
With her fingers she turns paint into flowers, with her body flowers into a remembrance of herself. She is at work always, mending the garment
