HERE

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.






Cf.,:
"All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter?/ I spoke the tongue
that was passed on / To me in the place that I happened to be,"
('A Welsh Testament')

"he, too, is a winner of wars,/ Enduring like
a tree under the curious stars."('A Peasant')

"He[Prytherch] is like bark/
Weathering on the tree of his kind"('The Face')

"To live in Wales is to be conscious/ At dusk of the spilled blood/
That went to the making of the wild sky, / Dyeing the immaculate rivers"
('Welsh Landscape')

"We were a people taut for war; c/ Our kings died, or they were slain/
By the old treachery at the ford./c We were a people bred on legends,/
Warming our hands at the red past./ The great were ashamed of our loose rags/
Clinging stubbornly to the proud tree/ Of blood and birth,"
('Welsh History')

"your slow/ And patient surgery under the faint /
November rays of the sun's lamp"('Iago Prytherch')

"The slow years shall tame your tawny lust."
('Song at the Year's Turning')

"I turned,/ Often after a whole year, / Often twice in the same day,
/ To where you read in the slow book / Of the farm, turning the fields' pages/
So patiently, never tired / Of the land's story."('Servant')

"I have looked long at this land, Trying to understand /
My place in it - why c/ This was the camped womb/
At last took me in / From the void of unbeing./
Hate takes a long time/ To grow in, and mine /
Has increased from birth."('Those Others')

"You will return,/ He intimated; the heart's roots/
Are here under this black soil/ I labour at."
('Truth')


"Here,"
from Tares
You can also find this in
COLLECTED POEMS 1945-1990(J.M.Dent, 1993).


background image: Mid Welsh hills
This photo was taken in August 2003 by Yoshifum! Nagata