tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post6632899518506691482..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: R. S. Thomas: On the FarmUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-21432228206835602522012-10-28T06:32:50.110-07:002012-10-28T06:32:50.110-07:00Well there is no cosy resolution or closure to the...Well there is no cosy resolution or closure to the poem, whether one believes in God or not. “Shrill” certainly raises the pitch at the end from the earthy, but it reinforces the danger of the girl’s situation ... as an invocation to ward off “evil” influences. An uneasy “balance”then ... an ongoing struggle in which good or God has to struggle with the bestial in perpetuum. A kind of hell, yes. A tale worthy of Poe ....... A horror story.Dalriadahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12004167335881293080noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-70841680094175910972012-10-28T01:34:40.476-07:002012-10-28T01:34:40.476-07:00Well, the idea of divinely imposed "sentences...Well, the idea of divinely imposed "sentences" (= hellfires) makes me a bit queasy too, Hazen.<br /><br />Introducing the a possibility of a forcible (speaking of imposition), even perhaps fanciful, re-location for the poet/s dark/bright little epiphany, I suppose I should have specified the Borges tale I had in mind. It's set in a landscape not totally unlike Thomas's, and also addresses atavism, folk religion, and a girl:<br /><br /><a href="http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/jorge-luis-borges-el-evangelio-segun.html" rel="nofollow">El Evangelio según Marcos / The Gospel according to Mark</a><br /><br />I've found the act of translating (substituting) not only languages but locations sweeps away much of the local residue in a work, revealing what of substance -- if indeed anything -- remains beneath. I guess the term "universal" first comes to mind, but that's probably old-age diction-thinking; the comparable term now would be "global", which is associated with corporate branding and marketing, a robotization of the human, definitely not the same thing at all.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-36642268961647584352012-10-27T20:56:25.890-07:002012-10-27T20:56:25.890-07:00This darker aspect of Thomas gives off its own lum...This darker aspect of Thomas gives off its own luminescence. He is very much to my liking, here and the other places that you have suggested. For my ear, his ‘strident sentence’ is much closer in meaning to “condemnation” (‘condena’ or ‘sentencia’) that to 'phrase' (frase), though it has something of the latter meaning too.Hazenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13417573435195561519noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-89136812103649192722012-10-27T17:13:09.086-07:002012-10-27T17:13:09.086-07:00The Teletubbies, Their Mummies
Thankfully, behind...The Teletubbies, Their Mummies<br /><br />Thankfully, behind that hill<br />far from their farm<br />the grass so green so green.<br />So short. Their long lives.<br />In the short grass. In the past<br />they were herders. Rode the deer<br />freestyle. Even a baby<br />was taught to grab hold<br />for the long distances<br />in winter in summer<br />past hillocks a bit too round<br />to be natural. Fire, a signal.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-33010624067592505802012-10-27T16:59:42.187-07:002012-10-27T16:59:42.187-07:00Another place of w's
of whys
out in the open.
...Another place of w's<br />of whys<br />out in the open.<br />A fire garden burns.<br />Once with little horses<br />similar<br />with deer<br />also bones<br />marked by long-standing<br />stones<br />reined-in<br />circles and squares.<br />I went there<br />in my dream.<br />I saw my earring.<br />Also, someone's face.<br />Let's just say<br />the name had some <br />zig-zagging lines in it.<br />Led me to the top of the hill.<br />It was another heap<br />instead of trees.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-60678988421975258652012-10-27T11:03:50.936-07:002012-10-27T11:03:50.936-07:00Well... shifting the set about just a bit, can we ...Well... shifting the set about just a bit, can we imagine Dai Puw and the other Puws and the girl translated to some lonely farm in a desolate backwater of <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/97/ParqueLuro041.JPG" rel="nofollow">the Pampas</a>?<br /><br />A strange Borgesian thought, which seems to have occurred to the Argentine poet Gerardo Gambolini. <br /><br />En la granja<br /><br />Estaba Dai Puw. Era un inútil.<br />Lo ponían en los campos a cortar nabos<br />y le quitaban el cuchillo cuando volvía<br />al anochecer con una sonrisa<br />como un tajo en la cara.<br /><br />Estaba Llew Puw, y era un inútil.<br />Cada atardecer, después de arar<br />con el tractor grande, se sentaba en su silla<br />a mirar el descuidado jardín incandescente,<br />abriendo sus labios lentos lo mismo que un caracol.<br /><br />También estaba Huw Puw. ¿Qué puedo decir?<br />Lo oía silbar y silbar en los setos,<br />como si el invierno<br />no fuese nunca más a abandonar esos campos<br />y todos los árboles se hubieran deformado.<br /><br />Y por último estaba la muchacha:<br />hermosa por algún hechizo de la bestia.<br />Su rostro blanco era el farol<br />con el que leían en el oscuro libro de la vida<br />la frase estridente: Dios es amor.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-10201875935309655092012-10-27T10:36:12.135-07:002012-10-27T10:36:12.135-07:00Isolation and inbreeding. We weren’t made for this...Isolation and inbreeding. We weren’t made for this. <br /><br />‘The shrill sentence: God is love.’ What an indictment of a belief system, yet one that Thomas professed to profess. This needs pondering. <br /><br />Those lonely cottages remind me of news items of late that describe the cruelties of solitary confinement and the psychological damage that results.Hazenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13417573435195561519noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-60241414309406704362012-10-27T10:23:26.019-07:002012-10-27T10:23:26.019-07:00About as remote as it gets. Rough work. In the dis...About as remote as it gets. Rough work. In the distance a nameless cottage. What shall I say?TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-69604749946611414132012-10-27T09:49:22.439-07:002012-10-27T09:49:22.439-07:00And took the knife from him, when he came home
At...And took the knife from him, when he came home <br />At late evening with a grin <br />Like the slash of a knife on his face.<br /><br />Knife: from the definite to the indefinite article; from a someway manageable item to the rough work of the imagination.<br /><br />To note that epiphany with the words, "shrill sentence", this is a great thing.Mose23https://www.blogger.com/profile/01100756913131511440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-44051792740124790192012-10-27T08:45:45.989-07:002012-10-27T08:45:45.989-07:00There was R.S. Thomas. What shall I say?
Anthony ...There was R.S. Thomas. What shall I say?<br /><br />Anthony Thwaite: “From the first, the poems of R.S. Thomas have been challenging statements about isolation, written in isolation.” <br /><br /><i>Gifts</i><br /><br />From my father my strong heart,<br />My weak stomach.<br />From my mother the fear.<br /><br />From my sad country the shame.<br /><br />To my wife all I have<br />Saving only the love<br />That is not mine to give.<br /><br />To my one son the hunger.vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras)https://www.blogger.com/profile/14515165428574974933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-87043666946367306772012-10-27T02:13:04.859-07:002012-10-27T02:13:04.859-07:00Also by this marvelous poet:
R. S. Thomas: The Mo...Also by this marvelous poet:<br /><br /><a href="http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2012/06/r-s-thomas-moor.html" rel="nofollow">R. S. Thomas: The Moor</a><br /><br /><a href="http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2012/10/r-s-thomas-fuel.html" rel="nofollow">R. S. Thomas: Fuel</a><br /><br />And too there is a curious "virtual reading", or animated video, in which we see R. S. Thomas, the preacher poet, old, appearing to be saying aloud, as from the Other Side, this startling poem, writ when not quite so old, about atavism, inbreeding and the mysterious bliss of a divinity curiously discovered in the earthly illumination of a girl's face:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRLxSYlRDLQ" rel="nofollow">"Opening his slow lips like a snail..."</a>TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.com