#WelshWriters
England, what have you done to mak… My fathers used a stranger to my l… An offence to the ear, a shackle o… That would fit new thoughts to an… Answer me now. The workshop where…
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…
And this was a civilization That came to nothing—he spurned wi… The slave—coloured dust. We breat… Thankfully, oxygen to our culture. Somebody found a curved bone
Dear parents, I forgive you my life, Begotten in a drab town, The intention was good; Passing the street now,
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
It is calm. It is as though we lived in a garden that had not yet arrived at the knowledge of
Evans? Yes, many a time I came down his bare flight Of stairs into the gaunt kitchen With its wood fire, where crickets… Accompaniment to the black kettle’…
I want you to know how it was, whether the Cross grinds into dust under men’s wheels or shines brigh… as a monument to a new era. There was a church and one man
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…
Nineteen years now Under the same roof Eating our bread, Using the same air: Sighing, if one sighs,
One night of tempest I arose and… Along the Menai shore on dreaming… The wind was strong, and savage sw… And the waves blustered on Caerna… But on the morrow, when I passed…
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-…
When I was a child and the soft f… Quietly as snow on the bare bough… My father brought me trout from th… From whose chill lips the water so… Dull grew their eyes, the beautifu…
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
We were a people taut for war; the… Were no harder, the thin grass Clothed them more warmly than the… Shirts our small bones. We fought, and were always in retr…