Easter by R.S. Thomas

Easter. I go to church
to proclaim with my fellows
I believe in the Ressurection -
of what? Here everything
is electric and automatic.
In April a myriad bulbs
are switched on as flowers
incandesce; a new generation
of creatures rehearses
its genetic code. All this is easy.
Earth is a self-regulating
machine; everything happens
because it must. My faith
is in the inevitability
of creation. There will come a day -
dust under a dry sun,
ashes under its incineration...
is there somewhere in all
the emptiness of the universe
a fertile star where the old
metaphors wil apply, where
the bugling daffodil will sound
abroad not the last post, but
a gush of music out of an empty tomb?

by R.S. Thomas
from Unpublished Poems
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Night Sky by R.S. Thomas

What they are saying is
that there is life there, too;
that the universe is the size it is
to enable us to catch up.

They have gone on from the human;
that shining is a reflection
of their intelligence. Godhead
is the colonisation by mind

of untenanted space. It is its own
light, a statement beyond language
of conceptual truth. Every night
is a rinsing myself of the darkness

that is in my veins. I let the stars inject me
with fire, silent as it is far,
but certain in its cauterising
of my despair. I am a slow

traveller. But there is more than time
to arrive. Resting in the intervals
of my breathing, I pick up the signals
relayed to me from a periphery I comprehend.

by R. S. Thomas
from Frequencies (1978)

GoFundMe: Luxated Hip Surgery for an Estrela Mountain Dog

I have a friend whose Estrela Mountain dog has unfortunately suffered a luxated hip and needs to raise funds for the surgery. Please have a look at the campaign page and if you can donate anything it would be appreciated. Thank you.

Here is some information about the injury and what the donations are going towards.

Hi, this is Kyuubi (pronounced Queue-bee). She is a 14 month old Estrela mountain dog, originally from Portugal, that lives in Wales with her owner.

About a month ago (5/03/19) while out on her daily walk, she was playing in a river by her house when out of nowhere she yelped in excrutiating pain. She jumped out of the river but refused to put her right paw down. We carried her to the vets as an emergency and they told us she had a luxated hip – her right femur popped out of its socket. We were shocked this was so random, she didn’t fall and we didn’t see her slip.

She is insured but as the incident happened within the first 2 weeks of the policy starting, as written in the agreement, the insurance will not pay out. We managed to scrape the funds together to cover the cost of popping her hip back in (closed reduction), and understood there was a 50/50 chance of the procedure being successful. During the recovery process, we ensured that Kyuubi was on bed rest in her crate and as an extra precaution, we went for a weekly visit to the vets to check on her well-being and to make sure she was recovering well. Everything seemed fine until last weekend (23/03/19) during our weekly visit to the practice, the new vet we saw thought there was something wrong and asked for more X-rays.

The new x-rays showed that Kyuubi’s hip is still luxated and her femur is out of the socket and grinding against her hip, which is very bad for her and will require surgery to fix. The vets we use told us they offer a type of surgery called femoral head osteotomy where they cut the head of the femur, but if she had it she would never run again. Alternatively we could go to a specialist .

She has been referred to see an orthopaedic specialist next week (01/04/19), where we will be briefed on the best surgical procedure for her case.

We asked for an estimate of how much it would cost and were met with the following: “The cost of investigations and treatment can vary widely from £800-1000 for closed (non-surgical reduction) through surgical stabilisation (circa £3500) right through to total hip replacement if the damage is severe (£5800-6000)”. We already know that the damage will require surgery which is ridiculously expensive.

We are trying desperately hard to round up the money to both pay for the consultation and surgery to follow by selling anything of value around the home, selling the car and working overtime. On such a small time frame we are struggling to make the cost of the consultation, let alone the surgery.  

Kyuubi has her whole life ahead of her and loves to run about and play. She means everything to us and any donation big or small would be so overwhelmingly appreciated, from the bottom of our hearts. The proceeds will go towards the cost of surgery. Anything over that will go towards her recovery which will likely require physical therapy.  

Please help by share the crowdfunding page as much as you can. Let’s  #GetKyuubiRunningAgain    https://www.instagram.com/kyuubi_the_estrela/

Updates will be posted  regularly on her wellbeing and progress and to everyone who reads this pledge, thank you for your time. 

Quote from the GoFundMe page

Here, again is a link to the donations page should you want to make a contribution towards the cause. Please, even if you cannot donate, share the link to the page to raise awareness as every little bit helps.

My sincere thanks.

The Film of God by R.S. Thomas

Sound, too? The recorder
that picks up everything picked
up nothing but the natural
background. What language
does the god speak? And the camera's
lens, as sensitive to
an absence as to a presence,
saw what? What is the colour
of his thought?
It was blank, then,
the screen, as far as he
was concerned? It was a bare
landscape and harsh, and geological
its time. But the rock was
bright, the illuminated manuscript
of the lichen. And a shadow,
as we watched, fell, as though
of an unseen writer bending over
his work.
It was not cloud
because it was not cold,
and dark only from the candlepower
behind it. And we waited
for it to move, silently
as the spool turned, waited
for the figure that cast it
to come into view for us to
identify it, and it
didn't and we are still waiting.


By R.S. Thomas
from Frequencies (1978)

Miracle On St David’s Day by Gillian Clarke

‘They flash upon that inward eye
which is the bliss of solitude

from ‘The Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth
 An afternoon yellow and open-mouthed
with daffodils. The sun treads the path
among cedars and enormous oaks.
It might be a country house, guests strolling,
the rumps of gardeners between nursery shrubs.

I am reading poetry to the insane.
An old woman, interrupting, offers
as many buckets of coal as I need.
A beautiful chestnut-haired boy listens
entirely absorbed. A schizophrenic

on a good day, they tell me later.
In a cage of first March sun a woman
sits not listening, not feeling.
In her neat clothes the woman is absent.
A big, mild man is tenderly led

to his chair. He has never spoken.
His labourer’s hands on his knees, he rocks
gently to the rhythms of the poems.
I read to their presences, absences,
to the big, dumb labouring man as he rocks.

He is suddenly standing, silently,
huge and mild, but I feel afraid. Like slow
movement of spring water or the first bird
of the year in the breaking darkness,
the labourer’s voice recites ‘The Daffodils’.

The nurses are frozen, alert; the patients
seem to listen. He is hoarse but word-perfect.
Outside the daffodils are still as wax,
a thousand, ten thousand, their syllables
unspoken, their creams and yellows still.

Forty years ago, in a Valleys school,
the class recited poetry by rote.
Since the dumbness of misery fell
he has remembered there was a music
of speech and that once he had something to say.

When he’s done, before the applause, we observe
the flowers’ silence. A thrush sings
and the daffodils are flame.

By Gillian Clarke
from Letter from a Far Country (1982)


Gillian Clarke discussing and then reciting her poem ‘Miracle on St David’s Day’

Gillian remarks on her site: “All you need to know about this poem is that it is a true story. It happened in the ’70s, and it took me years to find a way to write the poem.

The Water-Diviner by Gillian Clarke

 His fingers tell water like prayer.
He hears its voice in the silence
through fifty feet of rock
on an afternoon dumb with drought.

Under an old tin bath, a stone,
an upturned can, his copper pipe
glints with discovery. We dip our hose
deep into the dark, sucking its dryness,

till suddenly the water answers,
not the little sound we know,
but a thorough bass too deep
for the naked ear, shouts through the hose

a word we could not say, or spell, or remember,
something like “dŵr... dŵr.”


by Gillian Clarke
from Letter from a Far Country (1982)
Dŵr means 'water' in the Welsh language.