Poetry is that / which arrives at the intellect / by way of the heart.
We live in our own world , A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge. - R. S. Thomas
We live in our own world , A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.
- R. S. Thomas
The silence holds with its gloved hand the wild hawk of the mind. - R. S. Thomas
The silence holds with its gloved hand the wild hawk of the mind.
The meaning is in the waiting. - R. S. Thomas
The meaning is in the waiting.
I'm obviously not orthodox, I don't know how many real poets have ever been orthodox. - R. S. Thomas
I'm obviously not orthodox, I don't know how many real poets have ever been orthodox.
Poetry is that / which arrives at the intellect / by way of the heart. - R. S. Thomas
A recurring ideal, I find, is that of simplicity. At times there comes the desire to write with great precision and clarity, words so simple and movi… - R. S. Thomas
A recurring ideal, I find, is that of simplicity. At times there comes the desire to write with great precision and clarity, words so simple and movi…
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow. - R. S. Thomas
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.
The old men ask for more time; the young waste it. And the philosopher simply smiles, knowing there is none there. - R. S. Thomas
The old men ask for more time; the young waste it. And the philosopher simply smiles, knowing there is none there.
Art is recuperation from time. I lie back convalescing upon the prospect of a harvest already at hand. - R. S. Thomas
Art is recuperation from time. I lie back convalescing upon the prospect of a harvest already at hand.
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