#WelshWriters
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…
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
All right, I was Welsh. Does it… I spoke a tongue that was passed o… To me in the place I happened to… A place huddled between grey walls Of cloud for at least half the yea…
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-…
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.
“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…
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
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…
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…
It was beautiful as God must be beautiful: glacial eyes that had looked on violence and come to terms with it; a body too huge
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
The idiot goes round and around With his brother in a bumping car At the fair. The famous idiot Smile hangs over the car’s edge, Illuminating nothing. This is man…
I am, as you know, Walter Llywarc… Born in Wales of approved parents… Well goitred, round in the bum, Sure prey of the slow virus Bred in quarries of grey rain.
It is calm. It is as though we lived in a garden that had not yet arrived at the knowledge of
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…