Selected Poems

by R.S. Thomas

RS Thomas was the greatest religious poet writing in English in the 20th century, but the 270 poems he chose for this definitive selection reveal a wide range of themes and concerns. He was a passionate Welsh patriot, but also an outspoken critic of his countrymen. His poems are an expression of his lifelong argument with himself, of his insistent search for God. In them he grapples with ideas of Welshness, with issues of technology, pollution, the decline of culture. He wrote too about love, about landscape, nature and birds. His is an urgent, prophetic and unique voice.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Literature

368 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1973

About the author

Ronald Stuart Thomas (1913-2000) (otherwise stylised as R.S. Thomas) was a Welsh poet and Anglican priest who was noted for his nationalism, spirituality and deep dislike of the anglicisation of Wales.

Reviews

[Praveen · Rating 4 out of 5]

So many beautiful poems in this collection, The name of the poet was suggested, when I was searching for some British poets. I found personal, social, and spiritual imprints in his poetry.

In the poem 'Song for Gwydion', he says,

'When I was a child and the soft flesh was forming
Quietly as snow on the bare bough of bone,
My father brought me trout from the green river
From whose chill lips the water song had flown.'

It is said that R. S. Thomas had a Welsh voice, which I found in his poem 'Welsh Landscape' where he pronounces ' to live in Welsh is to be conscious, At dusk of the spilled blood that went to the making of the wild sky' . Many poems I read here had unworldly, numinous beauty entwined in his personal fellow feelings for his people and his landscape. I loved his poems and would recommend them to someone who has a bit of spiritual predilection!

One poem "Here" I'll share,

'I am a man now.
Pass your hand over my brow.
You can feel the place where the brains grow.

I am like a tree,
From my top boughs I can see
The footprints that led up to me.

There is blood in my veins
That has run clear of the stain
Contracted in so many loins.

Why, then, are my hands red
With the blood of so many dead?
Is this where I was misled?

Why are my hands this way
That they will not do as I say?
Does no God hear when I pray?

I have nowhere to go
The swift satellites show
The clock of my whole being is slow,

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

[Steven Godin · Rating 5 out of 5]

They made the grey stone
Blossom, setting it on a branch
Of the mind; airy cathedrals
Grew, trembling at the tip
Of their breathing; delicate palaces
Hung motionless in the gold,
Unbelievable sunrise. They praised
With rapt forms such as the blind hand
Dreamed, journeying to its sad
Nuptials. We came too late
On the scene, pelted with the stone
Flowers' bitter confetti.

[James Murphy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'd not read Thomas before these Selected Poems. I think him extraordinary. Despite a feeling I had that his poetry leaned more and more toward the religious as he aged, I found reading him is like standing in a strong wind which carries the heavy news from somewhere else, truths you've known but never articulated before. Reading him is to learn again, better, what you already know. Though he was Welsh and the poetry is testament to that sensibility, his work thrives far beyond the stark cliffs and gorse and the unreliable seasons of Wales to include us all.

[Tony · Rating 4 out of 5]

"....We reduce
the God-man to the human, the human
to the machine, watching it demolish
forests faster than we can grow even
one tree of faith for our Saviour to come down from."

There, in a nutshell, is I think a consistent thread of R S Thomas's poetry. The search for God in a world of men and machines. Not all the poems have a religious theme, but a lot of them do. They cover R S Thomas's doubts, as well as his faith. His search for light and love.

These are poems carved out of rock. You can imagine them on tablets, even with the doubt. There's something permanent about them. You get the impression Thomas took his time chipping them onto the page. They have the beauty of a mountain or a moorland. Perhaps they have something of the Welsh landscape about them, another regular theme in his poetry.

Wales is a theme here too, but it often seems to be a mourning of a culture lost and dying. Yet, inside the bleakness and the almost Eeyore quality that seems to seep from R S Thomas's poetry is hope and faith. Neither is easily earned or held on to but it is there.

I would like to read more of R S Thomas's work because an author's Selected Poems can sometimes skew your opinion of a poet. Perhaps there is a lighter tone elsewhere that this collection doesn't contain.

I would recommend you read this though, but don't expect a lot of laughs.

[Tobias Lindquist · Rating 4 out of 5]

If it wasn’t such a cliché, I would call R. S. Thomas ’a unique voice’. But it is true that there really is no one quite like him. I have many favorite poems in this selection. All of the poetry is very direct and seemingly uncomplicated (which is a rare quality, hard to achieve in poetry). But re-reading reveals depths of experience and dimensions of subtle feeling. One of the truly great 20th century poets; Thomas’ perspective is always fresh. The paths he leads us down are unexpected and beautiful, the conclusions sometimes puzzling, sometimes revelatory, but always intriguing and fertile for thought.

[Harry · Rating 5 out of 5]

Quietly dipping into this selection for about a year. A marvellous, and now largely unread poet. Thomas's nationalism was a tad extreme, but his sensitivity towards faith and his exploration into the questions it inevitably produces is honestly beautiful. Profound poetry, expressed in the simplest language.

[Michael Arnold · Rating 5 out of 5]

At the beginning I was unsure, I hadn't heard of R.S. Thomas before buying it. Finishing it I can say I'm a fan. And he keeps popping up in my life in odd ways now I've read him.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don't know how this poet escaped my attention (through a PhD in 20th c. British Lit!), but I am so glad to have found him now.

[Benjamin Welsh · Rating 5 out of 5]

If you are a writer of poetry like myself or simply an enjoyer of poetry you owe it to yourself to get your hands on this collection of R.S. Thomas' work. Some of the most vivid and evocative imagery from a man with a very firm grasp on the classics, theology, Welsh culture and language. All of which is articulated beautifully. My favourite in this collection has to be the poem 'The Bright Field', which resonates strongly with me. Thomas has everything to offer in these poems from the bleakest image of despair to the ethereal highs of joy and all that falls between them. I will be keeping this one close to my desk when in need of a creative boost.

[Graychin · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don’t read much poetry and keep a very select shelf of it. There are the bigwigs (Milton, Shakespeare, Herbert, Donne, Blake, Keats, etc). Then there’s Emily Dickinson, Eliot, Robert Frost, Longfellow, Rilke, Yeats, Auden, Philip Larkin, and a few others. To this shelf I hereby add R.S. Thomas.

[Tim Smith · Rating 5 out of 5]

As has been said,
the point of travelling is not
to arrive, but to return home
laden with pollen you shall work up
into the honey the mind feeds on.

[han · Rating 5 out of 5]

I will be reciting Welsh Landscape until my dying day tyvm

[Michael Vawser]

Reprint 1980
Biblio.com US$8.53

[Sam Hicks · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sublime servings of despair. From 'Evans':
It was not the dark filling my eyes
And mouth appalled me; not even the drip
Of rain like blood from the one tree
Weather-tortured. It was the dark
Silting the veins of that sick man
I left stranded upon the vast
And lonely shore of his bleak bed.

[Steve Robinson · Rating 4 out of 5]

An excellent introduction to the works of a remarkable poet.

[Katrinka · Rating 4 out of 5]

Much of the strength of these poems lies in their powerful, sometimes unexpected, endings. Thomas is unsparing in his observations-- which are never without a harsh sort of love.