I would still go there
if only to await
the once-in-a-lifetime
opening of truth's flower;
if only to escape
such bought freedom, and live,
prisoner of the keyless sea,
on the mind's bread and water.
by R. S. Thomas
from No Truce with the Furies (1995)
Tag: escape
The Empty Church by R. S. Thomas
They laid this stone trap
for him, enticing him with candles,
as though he would come like some huge moth
out of the darkness to beat there.
Ah, he had burned himself
before in the human flame
and escaped, leaving the reason
torn. He will not come any more
to our lure. Why, then, do I kneel still
striking my prayers on a stone
heart? Is it in hope one
of them will ignite yet and throw
on its illuminated walls the shadow
of someone greater than I can understand?
by R. S. Thomas
from Frequencies (1978)
Moorland by R. S. Thomas
It is beautiful and still;
the air rarified
as the interior of a cathedral
expecting a presence. It is where, also,
the harrier occurs,
materialising from nothing, snow –
soft, but with claws of fire,
quartering the bare earth
for the prey that escapes it;
hovering over the incipent
scream, here a moment, then
not here, like my belief in God.
by R. S. Thomas
from Experimenting with an Amen (1986)
‘Behind The Lake…’ by Anna Akhmatova
Behind the lake the moon’s not stirred
And seems to be a window through
Into a silent, well-lit house,
Where something unpleasant has occurred.
Has the master been brought home dead,
The mistress run off with a lover,
Or has a little girl gone missing,
And her shoes found by the creek-bed…
We can’t see. But feel some awful thing,
And we don’t want to talk.
Doleful, the cry of eagle-owls, and hot
In the garden the wind is blustering.
– by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (1922)
– from Anno Domini MCMXXI translation by D. M. Thomas
Flight by Anna Akhmatova
For O. A. Kuzmin-Karavaev
‘If we could only reach the shore,
My dear!’ – ‘Sh! Be quiet!’…
And we started down the stairs,
Hardly breathing, searching for keys.
Past the house where we had once
Danced and drunk wine,
Past the Senate’s white columns
To where it was dark, dark.
‘What are you doing? You’re mad!’ –
‘Not mad. In love with you!
This wind is wide and billowing,
Gaily it will take the ship!
Throat tight with horror,
The canoe took us in the gloom…
The tang of an ocean cable
Burnt my trembling nostrils.
‘Tell me – if you know youself:
Am I asleep? Is this a dream? …’
Only the oars splashed evenly
Along the heavy Neva wave.
But the black sky grew lighter,
Someone called to us from a bridge.
With both hands I seized the chain
Of the cross on my breast.
Powerless, I was lifted in your arms
Like a young girl on to the deck
Of the white yacht, to meet the light
Of incorruptible day.
– by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (Summer, 1914)
– from Белая стая (White Flock, 1917) translation by D. M. Thomas
Rambling At The Bridge Head 