İngilizce
It seems wrong that out of this bird, Black, bold, a suggestion of dark Places about it, there yet should come Such rich music, as though the notes'…
Ronald Stuart Thomas was born in Cardiff in 1913, the son of a sea captain. He was educated at University College of North Wales and later undertook theological training at St Michael's College in Cardiff. He was ordained as an Anglican priest in 1936. During his time as a rector he began to write poetry and verse. His writing career continued for fifty years during which time he produced twenty volumes of poetry and was nominated for a Nobel prize and awarded the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry. Whilst religion, understandably, was one of the major themes of his work, he also wrote about nature and about Welsh history. Thomas was fervent and often outspoken Welsh patriot and even wrote his autobiography Nab (Nobody - 1985) in Welsh. Thomas enjoyed working in the countryside and spent his whole time as a clergyman working in rural parishes. He retired in 1978. His first wife Elsi, by whom he had a son, died in 1991 after 51 years of marriage. He later married his second wife, Betty, who was with him until his death. He died at the age of 87 n 25th September 2000. Whilst still remembered for his Welsh republican views, it is for his religious poetry that he is still held in high regard. Of his work, he said: "My chief aim is to make a poem . You make it for yourself firstly, and then if other people want to join in... then there we are." His Collected Poems was published in 1993 and is still available today.)
Ronald Stuart Thomas şiirleri
İngilizce
It will not always be like this, The air windless, a few last Leaves adding their decoration To the trees’ shoulders, braiding the cuffs…
İngilizce
My father is dead. I who am look at him who is not, as once he went looking for me…
İngilizce
We met under a shower of bird-notes. Fifty years passed,…
İngilizce
Looking upon this tree with its quaint pretension Of holding the earth, a leveret, in its claws, Or marking the texture of its living bark, A grey sea wrinkled by the winds of year…
İngilizce
Iago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed, Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills, Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud. Docking mangels, chipping the green skin…
İngilizce
We've nothing vast to offer you, no deserts Except the waste of thought Forming from mind erosion; No canyons where the pterodactyl's wing…
İngilizce
All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter? I spoke a tongue that was passed on To me in the place I happened to be, A place huddled between grey walls…
İngilizce
Who put that crease in your soul, Davies, ready this fine morning For the staid chapel, where the Book's frown Sobers the sunlight? Who taught you to pray…
İngilizce
We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees,…
İngilizce
Laid now on his smooth bed For the last time, watching dully Through heavy eyelids the day's colour Widow the sky, what can he say…
İngilizce
Evans? Yes, many a time I came down his bare flight Of stairs into the gaunt kitchen With its wood fire, where crickets sang…
İngilizce
Men who have hardly uncurled from their posture in the womb. Naked. Heads bowed, not in prayer, but in contemplation…
İngilizce
The old man comes out on the hill and looks down to recall earlier days in the valley. He sees the stream shine, the church stand, hears the litter of…
İngilizce
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.…
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