R. S. Thomas - Iago PrytherchSong Rating: 8.27/10
Iago Prytherch, forgive my naming you.
You are so far in your small fields
From the worlds eye, sharpening your blade
On a clouds edge, no one will tell you
How I made fun of you, or pitied either
Your long soliloquies, crouched at your slow
And patient surgery under the faint
November rays of the suns lamp.
Made fun of you? That was their graceless
Accusation, because I took
Your rags for theme, because I showed them
Your thoughts bareness; science and art,
The minds furniture, having no chance
To install themselves, because of the great
Draught of nature sweeping the skull.
Fun? Pity? No word can describe
My true feelings. I pa**ed and saw you
Labouring there, your dark figure
Marring the simple geometry
Of the square fields with its gaunt question.
My poems were made in its long shadow
Falling coldly across the page.
Date of text publication: 16.01.2021 at 23:20