R.S Thomas ( 29/3/13 -25/9/00) - On the Threshold of Liberty

                               
                                Rene Magritte


Been away a week, amongst  Hay-on -Wye's corporate tents, time for  annual reflections, time for trusty old notebooks to disappear.
Reflections  may come, and go, but every year I read some R.S. Thomas, so this year with it being the centenary of his birth it adds a little poignancy. So last week as I immersed myself in Welsh landscapes. I also searched out Mr Thomas's deeper imaginings, where his passion for art is overlooked, far away from Iago Prytherch, his  resonance still littered with profound suffusion, little proclamations of committment, that continually assist.
So today I honour yesterdays's serial obsessive, who unlike google at least followed some kind of ethical code, whose flowers  still bloom in hope's potent wind. On the bridge of possibility.

What it means is:
            you must accede
to the invention. Flesh,
trees, dwellings, the grain
                        in the wood
are vulnerable and not
             to be shot at;
only the sky is
           target.
                    Challenged
the inventor would claim
             all he wants is
  for it to go off.
                        So move
the paintings to one side
             in  the humanist's
gallery; open a window.
Let the gun point its muzzle,
at the idea that there are limits.       

Reprinted from
Ingrowing Thoughts- R.S .Thomas
Poetry Wales Press, 1985.