~
In this poem, nature is blurring the boundaries between the man made and the eternal:
“…the green tide
Of grass creeping perpetually nearer
This last outpost of time past.”
Hardly anything happens in this village in Wales:
“the black dog
Cracking his fleas in the hot sun
Is history”
But the human dimension brings about a change of perspective. Suddenly the scene is invested with infinite depths:
“Yet the girl who crosses
From door to door moves to a scale
Beyond the band day’s two dimensions.”
Which takes us to the wonderful final stanza:
“Stay, then, village, for round you spins
On a slow axis a world as vast
And meaningful as any posed
By great Plato’s solitary mind.”
The poem is simply called “The Village”, by the great poet R.S.Thomas, and you can read it here.
~
Flowering Poverello 