I've been writing over on blethers about the new biography of R.S.Thomas, and about Thomas' poetry, about which I am passionate. The poem reproduced below I wrote on the day I woke to hear the radio announcement of his death.
DEATH OF A POET
I awake to the knowledge
that the one who could
voice such emptiness has
gone in the grey, rain-
worried morning and left
this vacuum my words cannot fill.
How can I bear the
silencing of that voice whose
parting arrows never failed to
pierce my soul,
whose wrestling with his
god defined my own,
other than by hoping for the
bird-shadow of his passing?
©C.M.M. 09/00
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