Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Dylan Thomas - Vision And Prayer

Vision And Prayer


I

                      Who
                    Are you
                  Who is born
               In the next room
             So  loud  to  my  own
           That I can hear the womb
         Opening  and  the  dark  run
      Over the ghost and the dropped son
    Behind the wall thin as a wren's bone?
      In the birth  bloody  room unknown
        To the  burn  and  turn of time
           And the heart print of man
              Bows   no   baptism
                But dark  alone
                  Blessing on
                    The wild
                     Child.

                       I
                    Must lie
                Still as  stone
              By  the  wren  bone
             Wall hearing the moan
           Of  the   mother   hidden
         And the shadowed head of pain
       Casting  to-morrow  like  a thorn
     And  the  midwives  of  miracle  sing
       Until  the  turbulent   new  born
        Burns me his name and his flame
          And the winged wall is torn
             By  his torrid  crown
              And the dark thrown
                From  his  loin
                   To bright
                     Light.

                     When
                  The   wren
               Bone writhes down
              And the first dawn
            Furied  by  his  stream
         Swarms  on the  kingdom come
       Of   the   dazzler   of   heaven
     And  the  splashed  mothering  maiden
    Who   bore  him   with  a   bonfire  in
     His mouth and rocked him like a storm
       I  shall   run  lost   in  sudden
         Terror   and   shining  from
            The  once  hooded  room
              Crying   in   vain
                In the  caldron
                   Of    his
                     Kiss

                      In
                   The spin
                 Of  the   sun
               In   the  spuming
            Cyclone   of  his  wing
          For  I  was  lost   who  am
       Crying at the man drenched throne
      In  the first  fury  of his  stream
    And   the   lightnings   of   adoration
      Back to black silence melt and mourn
       For  I was  lost  who  have  come
          To    dumbfounding    haven
            And  the   finding  one
               And the high noon
                 Of his wound
                   Blinds my
                      Cry.

                     There
                 Crouched bare
               In   the  shrine
              Of   his   blazing
           Breast  I   shall  waken
         To  the  judge  blown  bedlam
       Of   the   uncaged   sea   bottom
     The cloud  climb of the exhaling tomb
       And  the  bidden  dust  upsailing
         With his flame in every grain.
           O  spiral  of  ascension
            From the vultured urn
              Of   the   morning
                 Of  man  when
                   The  land
                      And

                      The
                    Born sea
                Praised the sun
              The  finding   one
            And    upright    Adam
          Sang      upon     origin!
        O the  wings  of  the children!
      The woundward flight of the ancient
    Young  from  the  canyons  of oblivion!
      The sky stride  of the always slain
        In   battle!    the   happening
          Of saints to  their vision!
            The world winding home!
              And the whole pain
                Flows     open
                     And I
                      Die.

II

    In the name  of the  lost who glory in
      The  swinish  plains   of  carrion
        Under    the    burial    song
          Of  the  birds  of  burden
            Heavy with the drowned
              And the green dust
                 And   bearing
                  The  ghost
                     From
                  The ground
                 Like  pollen
              On the black plume
            And the beak  of slime
          I  pray  though  I  belong
        Not wholly  to that  lamenting
      Brethren for joy  has moved within
    The inmost  marrow of  my  heart  bone

    That he who learns now the sun and moon
      Of  his  mother's  milk  may return
        Before the lips blaze and bloom
           To the  birth bloody room
             Behind the wall's wren
                Bone and be dumb
                  And the womb
                   That bore
                      For
                    All men
                  The  adored
                Infant light or
             The  dazzling  prison
           Yawn  to   his  upcoming.
         In  the  name  of  the  wanton
      Lost on  the unchristened  mountain
    In  the  centre  of  dark  I  pray  him


    That he let the dead lie though they moan
      For his briared hands  to hoist them
       To the shrine of his world's wound
          And the blood drop's garden
             Endure   the    stone
              Blind host to sleep
                 In  the  dark
                    And deep
                      Rock
                     Awake
                 No heart bone
              But  let  it  break
             On the mountain crown
          Unbidden    by    the   sun
       And  the  beating  dust be  blown
      Down  to  the  river  rooting plain
    Under   the   night   forever   falling.

   Forever   falling    night   is   a  known
     Star   and   country   to  the  legion
       Of sleepers  whose  tongue I  toll
         To    mourn    his    deluging
           Light through sea and soil
              And  we  have  come
                  To know all
                     Places
                      Ways
                     Mazes
                    Passages
              Quarters and graves
           Of   the   endless   fall.
         Now       common       lazarus
       Of  the  charting  sleepers  prays
     Never    to     awake     and    arise
  For the country of death is the heart's size

  And the star of the lost the shape of the eyes.
     In     the    name   of   the  fatherless
       In   the   name    of   the   unborn
         And       the       undesirers
           Of   midwiving   morning's
             Hands  or  instruments
                O  in  the  name
                   Of no  one
                     Now or
                       No
                     One to
                   Be I pray
                May the crimson
             Sun spin a grave grey
           And  the  colour  of  clay
         Stream  upon   his   martyrdom
      In     the     interpreted   evening
   And  the  known  dark  of  the  earth  amen.

    I turn the  corner of prayer and  burn
      In  a  blessing   of  the   sudden
        Sun. In the name of the damned
         I  would  turn back and  run
           To   the   hidden   land
              But  the  loud  sun
                 Christens down
                    The sky.
                       I
                   Am found.
                 O   let   him
              Scald me and drown
           Me in his world's wound.
         His  lightning  answers  my
       Cry. My voice burns in his hand.
      Now  I  am  lost  in the  blinding
    One. The sun roars at the prayer's end.




No comments:

Post a Comment