#WelshWriters
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.
‘Poems from prison! About what?’ ‘Life and God.’ ‘God in prison? Friend, you trifle with me. His face, perhaps,
The old man comes out on the hill and looks down to recall earlier d… in the valley. He sees the stream… the church stand, hears the litter… children’s voices. A chill in the…
Hers is the clean apron, good for… Or lamp to embroider, as we talk s… In the long kitchen, while the whi… Turns to pastry in the great oven, Sweetly and surely as hay making
“Listen, now, verse should be as n… As the small tuber that feeds on m… And grows slowly from obtuse soil To the white flower of immortal be… “Natural, hell! What was it Chauc…
Laid now on his smooth bed For the last time, watching dully Through heavy eyelids the day’s co… Widow the sky, what can he say Worthy of record, the books all op…
Too far for you to see The fluke and the foot-rot and the… Gnawing the skin from the small bo… The sheep are grazing at Bwlch-y-… Arranged romantically in the usual…
Moments of great calm, Kneeling before an altar Of wood in a stone church In summer, waiting for the God To speak; the air a staircase
Who put that crease in your soul, Davies, ready this fine morning For the staid chapel, where the B… Sobers the sunlight? Who taught y… And scheme at once, your eyes turn…
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
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 look out over the timeless sea over the head of one, calendar to time’s passing, who is now open at the last month, her hair wintry… Am I catalyst of her mettle that,
Who said to the trout, You shall die on Good Friday To be food for a man And his pretty lady? It was I, said God,
It is calm. It is as though we lived in a garden that had not yet arrived at the knowledge of
All my life I was face to face with her, at meal—times, by the fire, even in the ultimate intimacies