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R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

600 followers 4 following 730 posts

famous Welsh poet in English language 1913-2000
“…catching this / one truth by surprise / that there is everything to look forward to…”
#RSThomas #poetry #barddoniaeth
📍 yng Nghymru, wrth gwrs
facebook.com/groups/RSThomas/

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R S Thomas (poet) @rsthomaspoet.bsky.social · Oct 26

Diolch yn fawr iawn i Martin Roberts @ffoto.bsky.social am y llun hyfryd ac y gwên! Many thanks for this photo, especially the smile!

Black and white photo of head of smiling elderly man

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘And beyond…’ - #RSThomas
(The Echoes Return Slow, Macmillan)

Steve Harris @springersteve.bsky.social · 1d

R.S. Thomas

November 14, 2025 at 1:31 PM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

Clods or clouds?!
A mistake in a published poem of #RSThomas ! You might want to amend your copy. Explanation and correct version attached…
(thanks to Lee @seventyninelee.bsky.social for spotting this)

Text -

Clods or clouds?!
On Remembrance Sunday I posted the poem 'A Peasant' on Bluesky and on Facebook, and someone queried whether
'clouds' should actually be 'clods' in line 7.
And they are right! It's 'clods' in 'The Stones of the Field' and in 'Song at the Year's Turning' but then it's wrongly 'clouds' in
'Collected Poems 1945-1990', both the printed and ebook versions. And of course clods makes more sense than clouds in
context. So you might want to amend your copy. Here's the correct version...

Text of poem -

A Peasant.
lago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed, Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills, Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud.
Docking mangels, chipping the green skin From the yellow bones with a half-witted grin Of satisfaction, or churning the crude earth To a stiff sea of clods that glint in the wind-So are his days spent, his spittled mirth Rarer than the sun that cracks the cheeks Of the gaunt sky perhaps once in a week.
And then at night see him fixed in his chair
Motionless, except when he leans to gob in the fire.
There is something frightening in the vacancy of his mind.
His clothes, sour with years of sweat And animal contact, shock the refined, But affected, sense with their stark naturalness.
Yet this is your prototype, who, season by season Against siege of rain and the wind's attrition, Preserves his stock, an impregnable fortress Not to be stormed even in death's confusion.
Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars, Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.
- RS Thomas

November 14, 2025 at 8:46 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘A Day in Autumn’ - #RSThomas
(Poetry for Supper, Rupert Hart-Davis)

David Morley @profdavidmorley.bsky.social · 4d

Let the mind take its photograph
Of the bright scene, something to wear
Against the heart in the long cold.

from 'A Day in Autumn' by R.S. Thomas

November 11, 2025 at 10:13 PM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

Remembrance:
‘Pact’ - #RSThomas
(Uncollected Poems, @BloodaxeBooks)

Text of poem -

Pact.
This is my child; that is yours. Let peace be between them when they grow up.
They are far off now; let it not
be through war they are brought near. Their languages
are different. Let them both learn it is peace
in the hand is the translation of peace in the mind.
RS Thomas

A field of red and white poppies in bloom.

November 11, 2025 at 7:53 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

Remembrance:
‘Pact’ - #RSThomas
(Uncollected Poems, @BloodaxeBooks)

Text of poem -

Pact.
This is my child; that is yours. Let peace be between them when they grow up.
They are far off now; let it not
be through war they are brought near. Their languages
are different. Let them both learn it is peace
in the hand is the translation of peace in the mind.
RS Thomas

A field of red and white poppies in bloom.

November 11, 2025 at 7:53 AM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

“Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars, Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.”

‘A Peasant’ - #RSThomas
(The Stones of the Field, Druid Press)
#Remembrance

Text of poem -

A Peasant.
lago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed, Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills, Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud.
Docking mangels, chipping the green skin From the yellow bones with a half-witted grin Of satisfaction, or churning the crude earth To a stiff sea of clouds that glint in the wind - So are his days spent, his spittled mirth Rarer than the sun that cracks the cheeks Of the gaunt sky perhaps once in a week.
And then at night see him fixed in his chair
Motionless, except when he leans to gob in the fire.
There is something frightening in the vacancy of his mind.
His clothes, sour with years of sweat And animal contact, shock the refined, But affected, sense with their stark naturalness.
Yet this is your prototype, who, season by season Against siege of rain and the wind's attrition, Preserves his stock, an impregnable fortress Not to be stormed even in death's confusion.
Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars, Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.

A field of red and white poppies in bloom.

November 9, 2025 at 8:52 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Retired’ - #RSThomas
(Mass for Hard Times, @BloodaxeBooks)

Solivagant @wanderingsag.bsky.social · 6d

There are no meetings to attend
now other than those nocturnal
gatherings, whose luminaries
fell silent millennia ago.

~R. S. Thomas

November 9, 2025 at 9:43 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

“Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars, Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.”

‘A Peasant’ - #RSThomas
(The Stones of the Field, Druid Press)
#Remembrance

Text of poem -

A Peasant.
lago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed, Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills, Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud.
Docking mangels, chipping the green skin From the yellow bones with a half-witted grin Of satisfaction, or churning the crude earth To a stiff sea of clouds that glint in the wind - So are his days spent, his spittled mirth Rarer than the sun that cracks the cheeks Of the gaunt sky perhaps once in a week.
And then at night see him fixed in his chair
Motionless, except when he leans to gob in the fire.
There is something frightening in the vacancy of his mind.
His clothes, sour with years of sweat And animal contact, shock the refined, But affected, sense with their stark naturalness.
Yet this is your prototype, who, season by season Against siege of rain and the wind's attrition, Preserves his stock, an impregnable fortress Not to be stormed even in death's confusion.
Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars, Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.

A field of red and white poppies in bloom.

November 9, 2025 at 8:52 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Welsh Landscape’ - #RSThomas
(An Acre of Land, Montgomeryshire Printing Co)

Beth Levin @betheena.bsky.social · 8d

RS Thomas
"To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky."
A Welsh Landscape
*****
Llwyn y Betws
wanderthewood

November 7, 2025 at 1:46 PM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘The New Mariner’ - #RSThomas
(Between Here and Now, Macmillan)
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

Text of poem -

The New Mariner.
In the silence
that is his chosen medium of communication and telling others about it
in words. Is there no way not to be the sport of reason? For me now there is only the God-space into which I send out my probes. I had looked forward to old age as a time of quietness, a time to draw my horizons about me, to watch memories ripening in the sunlight of a walled garden.
But there is the void over my head and the distance within that the tireless signals come from. And astronaut on impossible journeys to the far side of the self I return with messages I cannot decipher, garrulous about them, worrying the ear of the passer-by, hot on his way
to the marriage of plain fact with plain fact.

November 5, 2025 at 8:15 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘The New Mariner’ - #RSThomas
(Between Here and Now, Macmillan)
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

Text of poem -

The New Mariner.
In the silence
that is his chosen medium of communication and telling others about it
in words. Is there no way not to be the sport of reason? For me now there is only the God-space into which I send out my probes. I had looked forward to old age as a time of quietness, a time to draw my horizons about me, to watch memories ripening in the sunlight of a walled garden.
But there is the void over my head and the distance within that the tireless signals come from. And astronaut on impossible journeys to the far side of the self I return with messages I cannot decipher, garrulous about them, worrying the ear of the passer-by, hot on his way
to the marriage of plain fact with plain fact.

November 5, 2025 at 8:15 AM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

Zebulun

@zebulun.bsky.social

Here - last week.
Glad to see it looked after. I had to clean it up one of the previous times as it was barely visible.

November 4, 2025 at 10:39 PM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Here’ - #RSThomas
(Tares, Rupert Hart-Davis)

Anthony31 @anthony31.bsky.social · 11d

“It is too late to start
For destinations not of the heart.
I must stay here with my hurt.”

- R.S. Thomas.🌱

November 4, 2025 at 10:34 PM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

"Sources close to" Bob Borsley

@bobborsley.bsky.social

The grave of Mildred Elsi Thomas (Elsi Eldridge), painter and wife of R.S. Thomas in Eglwys St Maelrhys Church, Llanfaelrhys:

November 2, 2025 at 9:14 PM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Harvest End’ - #RSThomas
(Experimenting with an Amen, Macmillan)
- from the Welsh of William Williams (Caledfryn)

Text of poem -

Harvest End.
(From the Welsh of Caledfryn)

The seasons fly; the flowers wither;
the leaves lie on the ground. Listen to the sad song of the reapers: Ripe corn', as over the sea the birds go.
Suddenly the year ends. The wind rages; everything in its path breaks. Dire weather; in front of a stick fire, fetched from
the forest, firm and infirm cower within doors.
The longest of lives too soon slips by.
Careers fold and with them good looks fade.
Spring's bloom is spent, summer is done, too.
With a rush we come to winter in the grave.

Testun y gerdd -

Diwedd y Cynhaeaf.
Tymhorau ehedant,
A blodau a wywant, A dail a orweddant Ar hyd y llawr;
Medelwyr a ganant, Ÿd aeddfed a gludant,
Adar ehedant
Dros y môr mawr.
Ar frys daw'r llym Aaea', Ei wynt a ysgythra,
Pob peth o'i flaen wyga, Daw'n dywydd du;
Wrth dân goleuedig
O friwydd o'r goedwig
Bydd sionc a methedig
Yn llechu'n tỷ.
Ar fyr yr ymlithra

Fel hyn yr oes hwya',

Fe dderfydd yr yrfa,

Gwywa'r hardd wedd;

Dy Wanwyn di ddarfu,

Mae d'Haf dithau i fyny,
Down toc i aeafu

I dy y bedd.

William Williams (Caledfryn)

November 2, 2025 at 8:48 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Harvest End’ - #RSThomas
(Experimenting with an Amen, Macmillan)
- from the Welsh of William Williams (Caledfryn)

Text of poem -

Harvest End.
(From the Welsh of Caledfryn)

The seasons fly; the flowers wither;
the leaves lie on the ground. Listen to the sad song of the reapers: Ripe corn', as over the sea the birds go.
Suddenly the year ends. The wind rages; everything in its path breaks. Dire weather; in front of a stick fire, fetched from
the forest, firm and infirm cower within doors.
The longest of lives too soon slips by.
Careers fold and with them good looks fade.
Spring's bloom is spent, summer is done, too.
With a rush we come to winter in the grave.

Testun y gerdd -

Diwedd y Cynhaeaf.
Tymhorau ehedant,
A blodau a wywant, A dail a orweddant Ar hyd y llawr;
Medelwyr a ganant, Ÿd aeddfed a gludant,
Adar ehedant
Dros y môr mawr.
Ar frys daw'r llym Aaea', Ei wynt a ysgythra,
Pob peth o'i flaen wyga, Daw'n dywydd du;
Wrth dân goleuedig
O friwydd o'r goedwig
Bydd sionc a methedig
Yn llechu'n tỷ.
Ar fyr yr ymlithra

Fel hyn yr oes hwya',

Fe dderfydd yr yrfa,

Gwywa'r hardd wedd;

Dy Wanwyn di ddarfu,

Mae d'Haf dithau i fyny,
Down toc i aeafu

I dy y bedd.

William Williams (Caledfryn)

November 2, 2025 at 8:48 AM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘The Prayer’ - #RSThomas
(Laboratories of the Spirit, Macmillan)

Cian McCarthy @arealmofwonder.bsky.social · 20d

Pause a moment, and read...

R.S. Thomas

October 26, 2025 at 12:46 PM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

Michael Evans 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 Mihangel ap Ifans

@michaelcymro.bsky.social

“like a tree undressing”

‘The Bush’ - #RSThomas
(Later Poems, 1972–1982, Macmillan London)

Text of poem -

The Bush.
I know that bush,
Moses; there are many of them in Wales in the autumn, braziers where the imagination warms itself. I have put off pride and, knowing the ground holy, lingered to wonder how it is that I do not burn and yet am consumed.
And in this country of failure, the rain falling out of a black cloud in gold pieces there are none to gather, I have thought often
of the fountain of my people that played beautifully here once in the sun's light like a tree undressing.

October 29, 2025 at 10:07 AM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Senior’ - #RSThomas
(Between Here and Now, Macmillan)
#Hŷn #Senior
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

Text of poem -

Senior.
At sixty there are still fables to outgrow, the possessiveness of language. There is no book of life with the pen ready to delete one's name. Judgment days are the trials we attend here, whose verdict the future has no interest in. Is there a sentence without words?
God
is a mode of prayer; cease speaking and there is only the silence. Has he his own media of communication?
What is a galaxy's meaning?
The stars relay to the waste places of the earth, as they do to the towns, but it is a cold message. There is randomness at the centre, agitation subsisting at the heart of what would be endless peace.
A man's shadow
falls upon rocks that are millions of years old, and
thought comes to drink at that dark pool, but goes away thirsty.

October 29, 2025 at 9:39 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Senior’ - #RSThomas
(Between Here and Now, Macmillan)
#Hŷn #Senior
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

Text of poem -

Senior.
At sixty there are still fables to outgrow, the possessiveness of language. There is no book of life with the pen ready to delete one's name. Judgment days are the trials we attend here, whose verdict the future has no interest in. Is there a sentence without words?
God
is a mode of prayer; cease speaking and there is only the silence. Has he his own media of communication?
What is a galaxy's meaning?
The stars relay to the waste places of the earth, as they do to the towns, but it is a cold message. There is randomness at the centre, agitation subsisting at the heart of what would be endless peace.
A man's shadow
falls upon rocks that are millions of years old, and
thought comes to drink at that dark pool, but goes away thirsty.

October 29, 2025 at 9:39 AM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Mediterranean’ - #RSThomas
(Between Here and Now, Macmillan)
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

Text of poem -

Mediterranean.
The water is the same;
it is the reflections are different.
Virgil looked in this
mirror. You would not think so.
The lights' jewellery sticks in the throat of the fish; open
them, you will find a debased coinage to pay your taxes.
The cicadas sing
on. Looking for them among the ilex is like trying to translate a poem into another language.

October 26, 2025 at 8:23 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘A Day in Autumn’ - #RSThomas
(Poetry for Supper, Rupert Hart-Davis)

Angela @angelt.bsky.social · 20d

A day in Autumn by R.S.Thomas

A day in Autumn by R.S. Thomas

It will not always be like this,
The air windless, a few last
Leaves adding their decoration
To the trees' shoulders, braiding the cuffs
Of the boughs with gold; a bird preening
In the lawn's mirror.
Having looked up From the day's chores, pause a minute,
Let the mind take its photograph
Of the bright scene, something to wear
Against the heart in the long cold.

by R.S. Thomas (1913-2000)

October 27, 2025 at 8:52 AM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘The Prayer’ - #RSThomas
(Laboratories of the Spirit, Macmillan)

Cian McCarthy @arealmofwonder.bsky.social · 20d

Pause a moment, and read...

R.S. Thomas

October 26, 2025 at 12:46 PM

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Mediterranean’ - #RSThomas
(Between Here and Now, Macmillan)
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

Text of poem -

Mediterranean.
The water is the same;
it is the reflections are different.
Virgil looked in this
mirror. You would not think so.
The lights' jewellery sticks in the throat of the fish; open
them, you will find a debased coinage to pay your taxes.
The cicadas sing
on. Looking for them among the ilex is like trying to translate a poem into another language.

October 26, 2025 at 8:23 AM

Reposted by R S Thomas (poet)

R S Thomas (poet)

@rsthomaspoet.bsky.social

‘Swifts’ (Pietà, Rupert Hart-Davis)
‘Swallows’ (No Truce with the Furies, @BloodaxeBooks)
#RSThomas

"Sources close to" Bob Borsley @bobborsley.bsky.social · 22d

Someone else with an interest in birds: R.S. Thomas:

October 24, 2025 at 6:34 PM