A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.
A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.
A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the loin
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.
A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.
A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.
I love how he strings his words: A process in the weather of the world Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child Sits in their double shade. A process blows the moon into the sun, Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin; And the heart gives up its dead.
This poem from18Poems(1934) is a type of ontological weather report, as the poet references a flow of metaphorical weather patterns - 'weather of the heart'; 'weather on the eye'; 'weather in the flesh and bone'; 'weather of the world" - as our lives are as unpredictable as these weather patterns.
disliked it because it kept reapeating words but it was quite good over all not a big fan though
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A concatenation of high-sounding and meaningless phrases. If Thomas had routed his poetry though his brain he would have been a much better poet.
You're obviously not Welsh, this poetry is way above your intellectual grasp.