Sunday, August 21, 2011

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. S. Thomas (II)

Requisite heading as always: "no introduction needed from me." (Seriously: Search some variant of that phrase in my blog, and you'll find a dozen instances of my parroting that phrase, followed by an introduction in disguise.) So instead of enacting the unnecessary -- given that I've done so with him before -- here, without context or qualification, is a poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas.

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By R. S. Thomas

Moments of great calm,

Kneeling before an altar
Of wood in a stone church
In summer, waiting for the God
To speak; the air a staircase
For silence; the sun's light
Ringing me, as though I acted
A great rôle. And the audiences
Still; all that close throng
Of spirits waiting, as I,
For the message.
Prompt me, God;
But not yet. When I speak,
Though it be you who speak
Through me, something is lost.
The meaning is in the waiting.

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