R. S. Thomas – Locus Communis

The bread’s purer snow

They came over the snow to the bread’spurer snow, fumbled it in their hugehands, put their lips to itlike beasts, stared into the dark chalicewhere the wine shone, felt it sharpon their tongue, shivered as at a sinremembered, and heard love crymomentarily in their hearts’ manger. They rose and went back to their poorholdings, nakedContinue reading “The bread’s purer snow”

The Country Clergy

I see them working in old rectoriesBy the sun’s light, by candlelight,Venerable men, their black clothA little dusty, a little greenWith holy mildew. And yet their skulls,Ripening over so many prayers,Toppled into the same graveWith oafs and yokels. They left no books,Memorial to their lonely thoughtIn grey parishes; rather they wroteOn men’s hearts and inContinue reading “The Country Clergy”

The Other

There are nights that are so stillthat I can hear the small owl callingfar off and a fox barkingmiles away. It is then that I liein the lean hours awake listeningto the swell born somewhere in the Atlanticrising and falling, rising and fallingwave on wave on the long shoreby the village, that is without lightandContinue reading “The Other”

In a Country Church

To one kneeling down no word came,Only the wind’ s song, saddening the lipsOf the grave saints, rigid in glass;Or the dry whisper of unseen wings,Bats not angels, in the high roof. Was he balked by silence? He kneeled longAnd saw love in a dark crownOf thorns blazing, and a winter treeGolden with fruit ofContinue reading “In a Country Church”

Praise

I praise you becauseyou are artist and scientistin one. When I am somewhatfearful of your power,your ability to work miracleswith a set—square, I hearyou murmuring to yourselfin a notation Beethovendreamed of but never achieved.You run off your scales ofrain water and sea water, playthe chords of the morningand evening light, sculpturewith shadow, join together leafbyContinue reading “Praise”

I Was Vicar of Large Things

I was vicar of large thingsin a small parish. Small-mindedI will not say, there were depthsin some of them I shrank backfrom, wells that the word “God”fell into and died away,and for all I know is stillfalling. Who goes for waterto such must prepare for a longwait. Their eyes looked at meand were the remainsContinue reading “I Was Vicar of Large Things”

R. S. Thomas – The Coming

And God held in his handA small globe. Look, he said.The son looked. Far off,As through water, he sawA scorched land of fierceColour. The light burnedThere; crusted buildingsCast their shadows: a brightSerpent, A riverUncoiled itself, radiantWith slime. On a bareHill a bare tree saddenedThe sky. Many peopleHeld out their thin armsTo it, as though waitingForContinue reading “R. S. Thomas – The Coming”