Talbingo

'TALBINGO RIVER'—as one says of bones: 'Captain' or 'Commodore' that smelt gunpowder In old engagements no one quite believes Or understands. Talbingo had its blood As they did, ran with waters huge and clear Lopping down mountains, Turning crags to banks. Now it's a sort of aching valley, Basalt shaggy with scales, A funnel of tobacco-coloured clay, Smoulders of puffed earth And pebbles and shell-bodied flies And water thickening to stone in pocks. That's what we're like out here, Beds of dried-up passions.